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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 










» 




























THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Beginning of Things . i 

II. Two of a Kind. io 

III. The Seventh Plague.35 

IV. A Matter of Range .", . 63 

V. Blue Clay .102 

VI. A Major Development. 135 

VII. A Personal Interview .176 

VIII. Lines of Cleavage.203 

IX. A Bucketful of Diamonds.223 

X. The Ring .273 













THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 







* 



















The Major—Diamond Buyer 


CHAPTER I 

THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 

H E WAS evidently out of place, ludicrously out of 
place, as he leaned wearily against the side of the 
tin shack and watched the horde of unwashed, per¬ 
spiring men who swarmed about the office doors of the Dia¬ 
mond Mining Licensing Bureau. 

It was a motley crowd: Sydney larrikins and New York 
toughs; gold diggers from Ballarat, shaggy-bearded Boers and 
grizzled Californian prospectors who had come across half 
the world, keen on the scent of new finds, of easily acquired 
wealth; undersized Cockneys and gaunt, rawboned Scots¬ 
men; irrepressible Irishmen and short, stocky Welshmen; 
gentlemen of fortune—mostly bad—drifters and rogues. 
Some of them had good morals, most of them had none; some 
of them could read Greek and spout Latin odes, others could 
barely write their own names. But they all knew a diamond 
when they saw one—even if it did look like a piece of glass in 
the rough—could judge its weight and give a fairly accurate 
estimate of its market value when cut and polished. 

There was a scarcity of water in the early days of Kim¬ 
berley, and the men were all dirty, unkempt, unshaven—all, 
that is, except the man who leaned against the tin shack. 

His full name was Aubrey St. John—he pronounced it 
Sinjun—Major. It couldn’t have been anything else, and 


2 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

South Africans, when they heard it, stared, smiled slightly or 
guffawed loudly—according to their breeding and sense of 
humour—and said, “Of course!” 

So after a while he dropped the Aubrey St. John part of 
his name, and when asked for his “handle” replied sweetly, 
“Call me Major, old bean.” 

He wasn’t a bad-looking chap ; in a way he was rather 
handsome. At any rate that was the verdict of all the bar¬ 
maids in Kimberley—and they were severe critics. 

His eyes were well set and a clear, steel-gray colour. At 
least one of them was; the other was more or less hidden from 
public view by the gold-rimmed monocle he wore, which re¬ 
flected the rays of the African sun in a blob of yellow light. 

His nose was well-shaped, curving slightly, and his firm 
lips were generally parted in an engaging smile, disclosing 
perfect teeth. 

He was tall, easily topping six feet, but his slouching pose 
made him seem much shorter; he was well built, but his foppish 
attire created the impression that he was a slim effeminate 
man. 

He looked just what he was: The only son of an impov¬ 
erished County family, well-schooled in the social amenities, 
but ignorant of all else save the ability to sit a horse and 
handle guns. 

Suddenly a native—a Hottentot, judging by his squat, un¬ 
gainly figure and the leathery colour of his skin—darted out 
from among the crowd of milling white men. Hard on his 
heels was one of them who cursed loudly as he ran and struck 
at the native with a long sjambok. 

Back and forth the native ran, silent, his face distorted with 
fear, dodging and turning, threading in and out among the 
whites who cheered first him and then his pursuer whom they 
called Smith. 

At last one of the miners, a brutal-looking Australian, 
tripped the native, sending him sprawling headlong. He fell 
almost at the feet of Major. 


THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 


3 

With a hoarse cry of triumph Smith pounced on the luckless 
native. 

“I’ll teach you to bump into me,” he said in a voice barely 
above a whisper; but that whisper was infinitely more menac¬ 
ing, more indicative of cruelty and anger than his previous 
loud cursing. 

He brought the rhinoceros-hide whip down on the broad, 
bare back of the native, scoring a thin red line across his dark 
skin. 

Smith raised the whip again, but before he could strike, 
Major leaped on him with surprising quickness and wrested 
the sjambok out of his hands. 

For a moment the two men stood eyeing each other—Smith 
white with rage; Major, coolly, provocatively insolent. 

The other men surged about them, forming a ring, urging 
them to put up their dukes and fight. 

“Give me that sjambok,” Smith snarled. 

“Why?” The tone was incurious, as if the speaker asked 
the question out of politeness. 

“So I can thrash this bloody nigger.” 

“Why?” 

“Because he bumped-” Smith began, then asked fiercely, 

“What the hell’s that to you?” 

“Nothin’, old chap, absolutely nothin’. But, really, you 
shouldn’t thrash a—er—native even if he did bump into you. 
That must have been beastly annoying, I’m sure, but I can’t 
allow you to thrash him.” 

“Oh, can’t you?” taunted the other, mimicking the slow, 
affected drawl, and held out his hand for the sjambok. “Give 
it to me,” he said. 

“Well, if you must have it,” sighed Major, “here it is.” 
He struck Smith lightly on the hand with the sjambok then 
met that man’s infuriated rush with a well-timed blow which 
landed flush to the point of the chin, knocking him to the 
ground. 

“You would have it,” he said sorrowfully. 


4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Smith rose quickly to his feet and, ignoring the advice of the 
crowd to “go in and finish the blamed dude,” scowling at their 
jeers, pushed his way through the crowd. 

Just then a real fight started between two half-drunken 
miners and the rest quickly transferred their interest to it. 
The affair of Smith, Major and the native was completely 
forgotten. 

Major looked sadly at his bruised knuckles, took out his 
monocle, polished it absently, replaced it and resumed his 
slouching position against the tin shack. 

He felt a tugging at his coat and, looking down, saw the 
native. 

“What is it?” Major asked in surprise. “What do you 
want?” 

The native answered in the vernacular and Major, not 
understanding a word he was saying, gazed at him open- 
mouthed, gave him a shilling and pantomimed dismissal. 

But the native broke out into another long, impassioned 
harangue which was this time interlarded with a few Eng¬ 
lish-sounding words. 

Bewildered, Major looked around and, seeing a sun-bronzed 
Colonial with whom he had a nodding acquaintance standing 
near by, he called, “I say, old chappie, come and help me out 
of a bally mess. What’s this ugly old bounder saying?” 

“He wants to be your servant,” the Colonial interpreted. 
“He says he thinks you’ll make a good baas.” 

“Tell him I don’t want a servant, will you? I haven’t 
enough of the well-known root of evil to keep one.” 

The Colonial translated this and the native’s answer. 

“He says he’ll be your servant, just the same, and he doesn’t 
want any pay. If you take my advice, Major, you’ll sign 
him on. You’ve earned his gratitude and—I’m banking on 
my knowledge of natives—he’ll be almighty loyal and stick 
by you when everybody else is giving you the cold shoulder. I 
know this nigger; he’s one of the cleverest hunters I’ve ever 
met. Tried to get him to work for me once, but he’s too 


THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 


5 

damned independent. Outside of that he’s only got one fail¬ 
ing—he’ll get drunk whenever and wherever possible.” 

“Well, if you think it’s wise,” Major said helplessly, “I’ll 
take him on. But what will I do with the funny looking 
Johnny? He’s absolutely indecently clad, you know. How 
will I feed him?” 

The Colonial laughed. “He’ll soon help himself to any 
clothing of yours he takes a fancy to, and by the time he’s 
polished your spurs and riding boots, washed and ironed your 
duds, cooked your food and made your bed, he’ll find time for 
more mischief than you ever thought existed. And, if you 
leave him alone, he’ll prove a good provider—for you as well 
as himself.” 

To the native the Colonial said in the vernacular, “The 
baas says all right.” 

He turned away, laughing, and called back to the Major, 
“His name’s Jim—he’ll need sjamboking once in a while.” 

* * * 

The next morning, dressed in spotless white duck from head 
to foot, Major left his camp—a tiny tent on the veld just 
outside the town—and proceeded at a leisurely pace toward 
the dorp, determined at last to put pride on one side and 
accept any kind of a job offered. 

Several yards behind him came Jim, the Hottentot, quite 
decently clad now in a pair of Major’s white flannels, which 
W’ere turned up above his knees and supported at the waist by a 
flaming red cummerbund. A cricket blazer, more gorgeously 
coloured than Joseph’s famous coat, fitted snugly across his 
shoulders and barrel-like chest, even if the sleeves were much 
too long for him. 

As they neared the town they passed a little group of men 
one of whom accosted the white man. 

“Is your name Major?” he asked. “Aubrey St. John 
Major?” 

Major nodded. 


6 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Then this is for you.” He thrust a small package into 
Major’s hands and hastened away. 

Wonderingly Major opened the package and found what 
looked to be a small lump of dirty glass. He tossed it from 
one hand to the other, then examined it closely, turning it 
round and round between his long, well-shaped fingers. 

“Bah Jove!” he exclaimed softly. “It’s a—er—I believe 
it’s a diamond.” 

While he was speculating as to the reason for this gift so 
strangely given, two men came up to him and arranged them¬ 
selves on either side. 

“You’re under arrest,” said one. 

Major’s mouth gaped in astonishment, his monocle fell from 
his eye and smashed to pieces on the hard, sun-baked ground. 

“Under arrest!” he exclaimed. “What for? But of 
course you are joking, old beans.” 

He fished another monocle from the breast pocket of his 
tightly fitting tunic, fixed it in his eye and regarded them 
cheerfully. 

“This is no joke,” said the other man. “You’re under 
arrest, charged with I. D. B.—and a damned serious charge 
it is.” 

“I. D. B.! But I don’t understand! What are you talk¬ 
ing about?” 

“Aw! Don’t try to play the innocent. You know what 
illicit diamond buying means. You just bought a diamond, 
didn’t you?” 

“No!” Major expostulated, looking at the stone he held in 
his hand. “This—er—thing was given to me by a perfect 
stranger and—-—” 

The men laughed scornfully. 

“Stow yer gab,” said the one who had made the arrest. 
“We saw the whole affair. Come on.” 

With a dexterity born of much practise, they handcuffed 
their captive and marched him triumphantly to the police court. 

From then on things happened too quickly for Major to get 


THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 


7 


his bearings, or to make any kind of defence—even had that 
been allowed him. He was tried before, a sleepy, disinter¬ 
ested magistrate who, after hearing the evidence of the two 
detectives, asked with apparent gravity, “Have you anything 
to say, young man, before I pass sentence?” 

“My word, yes,” exclaimed Major, unable to realize the 
seriousness of his situation. “I’m absolutely innocent of any 
crime, you know.” 

“You mean to say these officers lied,” the magistrate thun¬ 
dered. 

“Why—er—yes. Most certainly they lied when they said 
I bought a diamond. It was given to me by a perfect stranger 
and-” 

“Then you admit having this diamond—marked Exhibit A— 
in your possession?” the magistrate interrupted. 

“Yes, of course, old bean,” Major said patiently. “I just 
told you that it was given to me.” 

“That’s evidence enough,” the magistrate said heavily. 
“Having an unregistered diamond in your possession is a crime 
under the I. D. B. act. However, in view of your youth I’ll 
be lenient. I sentence you to two years without hard labour.” 

“But I didn’t know-” Major began. 

“Ignorance of law no excuse,” snapped the magistrate. 
“Next case.” 

That same night Major, handcuffed, still dazed by the swift 
fate which had overtaken him, was started on the long journey 
which was to end at the Cape Town prison. His whole rancour 
was against the system, against the powerful diamond interests 
which had created and which could cause the enforcement of 
so drastic, so seemingly unfair a law. 

Why these powerful interests should have stooped to have 
him arrested on an obvious frame-up, he did not have the re¬ 
motest idea. To fathom that mystery he would have had to 
have more knowledge of the queer underworld of the diamond 
region. In championing the native the day before he had come 
up against a considerable power in that world—one Whispering 


8 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Smith. A word to one of Smith’s henchmen, and a case of 
I. D. B. had been manufactured against young Major with the 
greatest ease. Smith was not one to let any unknown arrival 
insult him without instant reprisal. But this fact Major 
couldn’t know, so he placed all the blame for his incarceration 
on the Diamond Syndicate—though they were only the authors 
of the law he had come up against. It fell to the lot of others, 
such as Smith, to invoke it for their own nefarious purposes. 

#■ * * 

During his first year’s imprisonment Major received two 
letters from England. One from his father read in part: 

. . . having so disgraced us we think it best that you should 

never return home. I have, therefore, placed five hundred pounds 
for you in the Miners’ Bank at Cape Town which you may withdraw 
on your discharge. I advise you to spend it wisely for you will not 
hear from me again and any letters you may venture to write to me 
will be returned, unread 

The other one reached him on his twenty-fourth birthday. 
Accompanying it was a ring. Only one paragraph interested 
Major: 

I am, of course, returning your ring. The convict you are can not 
hold binding a promise made to the honorable gentleman you were. 

After reading that Major cursed bitterly, then applied him¬ 
self with renewed purpose to his book—“A Zulu Grammar 
and Vocabulary.” The ring he later gave to a Dutch warden 
and from him learned to speak the Taal —the language of the 
Boers. 

He received one other letter shortly before his time was up. 

Jim, your servant boy sends greetings to you his white man 
Baas. After much talking to black dogs who ware the clothes of 
poleese he finds where you are. He says he thinks lot of you. He 
says he being drunk many times. He says when you leave where you 
now being, you come to kraal (and that is native town) which is but 
very little far to north from Capetown. It is named Umbalose. He, 
Jim, will be waiting for you, his Baas, there. Good-bye. Jim, he 
speaks English, says if I don’t see you so long hullo (and that is 
Silly.) v 


THE BEGINNING OF THINGS 


9 

Written by Samuel Christian passed forth class Umvoti Mission 
school. 

* * * 

At the expiration of his sentence Major hastened to draw 
out his five hundred pounds and put up at the best hotel Cape 
Town afforded, indulging himself in every possible luxury. 

At the end of a week he took stock of his possessions and 
knowledge, and finally drew up this statement: 


Assets 

Four hundred pounds (cash) 
Plenty of clothes 
Good health—quite strong 
Good rider and shot 
Some knowledge of native lan¬ 
guages. 

Speak the Taal fluently 

Purpose: 
years of hell. 


Liabilities 
Wear a monocle 
Look and talk like a silly ass 
No knowledge of the country 
Insufficient knowledge of natives 
An exacting conscience 


To make the Diamond Mining Syndicate pay for two 


On a second reading he changed the first two items in the 
liabilities column over to the asset side. 

“I don’t know what to do about the bally conscience,” he 
muttered, “but I can acquire knowledge of the country and 
natives. Perhaps I’d better let my conscience take care of 
itself.” 

Having arrived at that decision he invested his money in a 
light Cape cart, four mules and a quantity of truck for trad¬ 
ing with natives. Then he joined Jim at Umbalose and the 
two of them vanished from the beaten track. 


CHAPTER II 


TWO OF A KIND 

A GGIE, the presiding goddess of Whispering Smith’s bar, 
looked up languidly from her book as Plainclothes 
k Sergeant Detective Brimmer entered. 

“What cheer, Porky?” 

The man scowled. “Give me a whisky and soda.” 

With an air of boredom Aggie placed the drink before him. 

“Because they call you Porky 
and you look like porky, that’s no 
reason why you should act like a 
pig, old dear.” 

He grunted inarticulately. 

“I think you are a pig,” she said 
lightly. 

He emptied his glass and sat 
down morosely at one of the 
tables. 

Aggie watched him amusedly. 
“Piet Deemster’s waitin’ for you in the parlour.” 

She jerked her head toward a door leading to an inner room. 
Brimmer rose with a curse. “Why the hell didn’t you tell 
me that before?” 

“Slipped my mind, dearie.” 

“Any one else in there?” 

“Only a sundowner. He rolled in about an hour ago, 
lookin’ all in. Said he’d been over a year prospecting on the 
veld. Said he’d struck gold, but it doesn’t look to me as if 
he found anything but a ragin’ thirst. You’re not a bad hand 

io 



Mauna* 


TWO OF A KIND 


ii 


at hiding away booze, Porky, but the lad in there could drink 
you under the table before a night was half over.” 

“What did you let him in there for?” 

“He seemed to know the ropes and looked harmless. Be¬ 
sides he-” 

But Brimmer had passed on to the inner room, viciously slam¬ 
ming the door behind him. 

“Wonder what’s the matter with Porky this morning,” 
murmured Aggie. Then dismissing all thoughts of him from 
her pretty, empty head, she picked up the latest atrocity by the 
housemaid’s favourite author and read avidly. 

The inner room, known to its habitues as the parlour, of 
Whispering Smith’s saloon was a dark and dismal place, 
totally lacking ventilation, and reeking of stale liquor and 
tobacco-smoke. It was a mysterious room, a room of many 
exits cunningly hidden in the panelling which made it the fa¬ 
vourite meeting-place of South Africa’s underworld. 

A big loose-limbed Dutchman greeted Brimmer boisterously 
as he entered. “Allemachtig, but you’re late ma-an.” 

“The chief wanted to see me before he left for Jo’burg and 
I had to go down to the train with him,” Brimmer explained 
shortly. He sat down at Piet’s table and poured out a stiff 
peg from the bottle of whisky which stood on the table. 

Piet watched him curiously. “You ain’t sick, are you? 
Got fever?” 

“No. I’m damned worried. This game’s getting danger¬ 
ous.” 

Piet laughed. “It would be more dangerous to leave it.” 

There was a note of menace in his tone and Brimmer looked 
up quickly. 

“What’s the matter, ma-an?” The Dutchman spoke in a 
sort of nasal singsong. 

“Aggie said that there was a sundowner in here,” Brimmer 
said, disregarding Piet’s question. “Where is he?” 

Piet pointed to a table in the darkest corner of the room 
where Brimmer could dimly make out the figure of a man. 


12 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Walking over to the table Brimmer shook the man violently. 
“Let’s have a look at you,” he growled. 

The man sleepily opened his eyes. “Lemme alone,” he 
whined. “I ain’t done nothin’. 

Brimmer closely scrutinized the man’s face, noted the shaggy 
unkempt beard and tangled mass of hair, the bloodshot eyes and 
tattered clothing. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Sleepin’ and drinkin’; drinkin’ and sleepin’.” 

“Ach sis! ma-an, let him alone. He’s harmless,” called 
Piet. 

Brimmer released his hold on the sundowner, who again 
sprawled across the table and was soon sleeping noisily. 

“They say the Major’s in town,” he said in explanation as 
he returned to Piet’s table, “and I’m not taking any chances cf 
letting him slip through my fingers.” 

Piet roared with laughter. 

“Allemachtig! What’s the matter with you damned fools 
of the police? A ma-an only has to speak of the Major and 
you all get the wind up. Who is he?” 

Brimmer shook his head. 

“We don’t know much—save he looks like a dude and has 
been doing more diamond buying in the last twelve months 
than all the other I. D. B.’s put together. Every man on the 
force has been warned to be on the look out for him but he’s 
as slippery as an eel.” 

“Bah! I bet the boss could get him any time he wants to. 
There’s no man can put anything over on Whip Smith. But 
what’s your worry? I heard the Major was in Portuguese 
Territory.” 

“So he was. But he’s back again, the chief said.” 

“Well, why didn’t your chief arrest him?’ ’ 

“There’s no evidence against the man. Besides, the chief 
didn’t say he saw him, but he did see the Major’s nigger, Jim. 
And they say the Major can’t get along without his nigger.” 
Brimmer cursed fluently, and then lapsed into a moody silence. 


TWO OF A KIND 


13 

“Is it this Major ma-an that’s on your mind?” asked the 
Dutchman. 

“No. They’re on to our game at Headquarters. Someone’s 
been spilling the beans, and the chief—he’s newly appointed— 
is running straight.” 

“Do they know anything sure?” 

Brimmer hesitated, then burst out in a paroxysm of child¬ 
like rage. “He’s a slim one, the new chief. We can’t pull 
the wool over his eyes. He did a lot of noseying around and 
wanted to know how I could support a racing-stable on a 
policeman’s salary. Blast him! I’m going to pull out and 
run straight.” 

“And what do you think the boss’ll say to that, Brimmer? 
Don’t be a verdoemte fool. Even if they did get the goods on 
you, they couldn’t do anything. The boss ’ud see to that. 
He’s got more power in this dorp than your fool chief who’s 
trying to run straight.” 

Brimmer shook his head in indecision. 

“You lost pretty heavily at the races yesterday, Brimmer?” 

“Dropped a cool thousand, and you know I did.” 

“Well, listen, ma-an. There’s a chance for you to get some 
of that back. The boss got next to the manager of the Lonely 
Mine.” 

Brimmer straightened up in his chair. 

“Ah! Thought that ’ud interest you. We’ve drawn a 
blank at the Lonely Mine—up to now.” Piet looked mean¬ 
ingly at the policeman. “He was a bit shy at first, but when 
he saw the colour of the boss’s money and got his promise of 
protection there was nothing to it. Listen. A bunch of his 
niggers are going home to the kraals to-day. Of course he’ll 
search them—he’s an honest man—but he won’t think of 
opening a wound in a black boy’s thigh; he’s too kind-hearted 
for that. And there’s six of them,” Piet continued triumph¬ 
antly, “six of ’em with big cuts in their thighs, and the wounds 
are festering. You know what for! They call for an opera¬ 
tion, and you’re going to be the doctor.” 


i 4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Just then the man at the corner table began to pound noisily, 

“What do you want?” demanded Piet. 

“A drink, damn you. I want a drink,” the other replied 
thickly. 

Piet rang the little bell on his table and when Aggie entered 
pointed to the sundowner. 

“He’s still thirsty, Aggie.” 

“What’ll it be this time?” she called. 

“Gin and bitters, ducky.” 

Aggie tossed her head. “My how that lad can mix them,” 
she said confidentially to Piet. 

“Get out of here,” Brimmer grunted impatiently. 

“I’ve no desire to stay,” she replied haughtily. “There’s a 
proper gentleman waiting for me out there.” 

“Yes?” questioned Piet with interest. 

“Wears a monocle and says ‘Bah Jove!’ ” Aggie’s imitation 
of the drawl was grossly exaggerated. “Oh, he’s a regular 
Bond Street Johnny, all right.” 

“What’s his name?” Brimmer asked excitedly. 

“He didn’t say, and I’m too much of a lady to ask him.” 

“Bah!” 

“Tut-tut! Ain’t we quick tempered this morning? Well, 
I’ll get out of here glad enough. The bloke out there’s a gen¬ 
tleman, and that’s more than I can say for you two.” 

After the girl had left the room the two men looked at 
each other significantly. 

“That sounds like the Major!” 

“Have you ever seen him, Brimmer?” 

“No. But I’ve heard his description lots of times. Round, 
clean-shaven face; stands over six foot, but looks less; wears a 
monocle and speaks with a drawl.” 

Piet looked disgusted. “That’s a hell of a description.” 

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s not so many men wearing 
monocles around this dorp. I bet it’s him, all right. Don’t 
forget that his nigger’s been seen in town. Where one goes, 
the other’s not far off.” 


TWO OF A KIND 


15 


When Aggie reentered with the sundowner’s drink, the man 
lurched forward to meet her and collapsed heavily on a seat 
nearer the two men. 

“Keep the change, sweetheart/’ he hiccupped, throwing a 
sovereign down on the table. “It’s all I’ve got.” 

“Is the Johnny still out there, Aggie?” questioned Piet. 

“Yes. He says he’s going to stay awhile. Wanted to 
know if we had a ‘room and bawth!’ ” 

Brimmer slipped a shilling into the girl’s hand. “Call him 
Major, Aggie, and let us know what he says.” 

A few minutes later Aggie returned, smiling broadly. 
“Business is good this morning,” she giggled. 

“Well?” 

“Says I, ‘It’s terrible hot to-day, ain’t it, Major?’ An’ 
strike me pink, he was so taken aback you could have knocked 
him down with a feather. 

“ ‘How did you know,’ says he, ‘that I was the Major?’ 
Then he takes out his monocle, polishes it and screws it back 
again. ‘ ’Pon my soul,’ he says, ‘but you’re a deucedly dis¬ 
cerning young lady. But you won’t tell anyone else, will 
you?’ And he slips me half a quid. He’s a gentleman, he is.” 

“Well, here’s another,” said Piet. “Go out there and talk 
pretty to him for five minutes or so, and then see if you can get 
him to come in here.” 

“You bloody fool! What do you want him in here for?” 
said Porky Brimmer, rising wrathfully as the girl left the 
room. 

Piet’s hand shot out and grasped him firmly by the wrist. 

“Sit down and listen, ma-an. Here’s a chance for you to 
make a clean-up and clear your record at headquarters.” 

Brimmer sat down unwillingly. 

“Well?” he grunted. 

“The Major won’t know you’re a policeman, will he? Who 
would, for that matter? Well, when we get him in here, 
we’ll let on that we’ve got word of some niggers who’ve got 
some diamonds and we haven’t got the money or the chance to 


i6 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


negotiate. Better than that, we’ll let him in on this game 
to-night on equal shares. He’ll take us up, if all I’ve heard of 
him’s true.” 

“That’s a hell of a scheme,” interjected Brimmer. 

“Wait, ma-an. I’m not yet all through. You’ll take him 
with you when you go to meet the niggers to-night; get the 
diamonds and then arrest him for illicit diamond buying.” 

A light of comprehension spread over Brimmer’s face. 

He saw that Piet’s plan offered him the opportunity to put 
himself in right all round; to square his losses, to regain the 
confidence of his chief—thus making it possible for him to act 
as agent for the I. D. B’s. yet longer—and to earn the enor¬ 
mous reward offered by the Diamond Mining Syndicate for the 
arrest of the leader of a gang of I. D. B’s. It would be easy 
to fasten the leadership on a man of the Major’s reputation. 

Turning the plan over in his mind, Brimmer could see no 
possible chance for failure. 

“But what about the diamonds—are we to hand them all 
over to the syndicate?” 

“Ach sis , no, ma-an. Smith would never stand for that. 
Let the Major have one or two of the smaller ones. That’ll 
be all that will be necessary to convict him. For the rest— 
Quiet. Here he comes. Let me handle him.” 

The knob of the door turned and the door opened slowly, 
admitting a tall, immaculately dressed man. 

“Ta-ta, old dear,” he called to the girl in the bar. “As 
the bally Dutchmen say, ‘If I don’t see you, so long. Hullo!’ ” 
Closing the door he turned and swiftly scrutinized the other 
occupants of the room. 

His jaw dropped and his face assumed a vacant expression 
as he fumbled with his eyeglass. “ ’Pon my word, I hope I’m 
not intrudin’,” he said apologetically. “The lovely damsel 
assured me that there was no one in here. I—er-” 

At the sound of his voice the sundowner looked up, grinning 
inanely. “Come off yer perch, cocky. Blimme, I thought fer 
a minute it was a bloomin’ girl.” 


TWO OF A KIND 


17 

“Don’t mind him—he’s drunk,” said Brimmer. “You’re 
not intruding. Come and join us in a drink, Major.” 

“I don’t mind if I do,” said the other, drawing a chair up 
to the table. “But I’ll give you my word that I find it per¬ 
fectly astounding that I appear to be so well known. I 
thought I came here strictly incognito. I didn’t think any 
one in this dorp knew me.” 

“The Major is well known throughout the colony,” Piet 
said suavely. 

“Really, I’m afraid you flatter me. But if that’s the case 
I’d better remove myself to some distant spot before my friends 
of the police see me.” 

Piet laughed. “We’re all in the same boat, here, Major. You 
don’t have to worry about the police; you’re too slick for them.” 

“Do you really think so? Then I’ll stay. But you gentle¬ 
men have the advantage of me. You know my name, while 
I—excuse me—don’t know yours?” 

“My name’s Brown,” said Brimmer, “and this,” indicating 
Piet, “is Jones. We are in the same line of business as your¬ 
self—diamond merchants.” Brimmer winked. 

“ ’Pon my soul, gentlemen, but that’s perfectly ripping. 
I’m charmed to meet you. And what delightfully unusual 
names. Mine, by the way, is Black.” He laughed gleefully. 
“And how’s the diamond business, Messrs. Brown and Jones?” 

“I was wondering,” Brimmer said slowly, “if you’d care to 
join the firm-” 

“Delighted, I’m sure. But why rope in an utter stranger?” 

“We need someone we can trust, and you’ve got the reputa¬ 
tion of playing square.” 

The man who called himself Black bowed. 

“Drop this fooling,” growled Piet, “and let’s get down to 
business. Listen, Major-” 

“Black, if you please, Jones.” 

“All right, Black then. You’ve heard of the Lonely Mine?” 

The other nodded. 

“Well, we’ve got next to the compound manager and six of 


18 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

his niggers are going home to-day, and they are taking with 
them diamonds as big as walnuts, so the manager said. We’ve 
made arrangements to meet them for a trade.” 

“Why call in a third party? Can’t you swing it alone?” 

Piet spat disgustedly. “Hell no. We spent all our capital 
bribing the manager and haven’t enough left to pay the nig¬ 
gers let alone getting the stones to a good market. That’s 
where you come in. We’ll split equal share. There ought to 
be a thousand clear profit.” 

The monocled one coughed deprecatingly. “As I see it,” 
he said, “you want me to pay the bloomin’ niggers for the 
stones, take the risk of selling them and then divvy up on 
equal shares with you two. That’s a bally generous proposi¬ 
tion, I must say.” 

“What do you expect?” Brimmer exploded heatedly. “We’ve 
already taken the risk of getting the information, and have 
spent all our capital squaring the compound manager—he 
wouldn’t work on shares—and getting next to the natives. 
Besides, I have to go with you to make the deal with the 
natives; they wouldn’t deal with you.” 

“You mean you don’t trust me,” said Black softly. 

“Oh, have it any way you like. At any rate we’re trusting 
you to make a fair split of the money you get for the diamonds. 
I don’t see where you stand to lose.” 

The other was silent. 

“Come on,” said Piet contemptuously. “He’s got no guts. 
Let’s go and raise the money somewhere else.” 

“Wait a minute! I’ll join your firm. When and where 
do we meet the niggers?” 

“To-night at an old working I own. I’ll call for you here 
about nine o’clock.” 

“Top-hole. I’m going to a place the girl told me of to 
sleep. I’ll meet you here to-night. Until then I’m goin’ to 
stay doggo. Can’t afford to take any risk. Toodle-oo.” 

He passed gaily out into the bar and they heard him chaffing 
with the barmaid. 


TWO OF A KIND 


19 

Piet looked at Brimmer contemptuously. “And that’s the 
man who’s been playing merry hell with the police?” 

Brimmer flushed. “He does seem to be a damned fool, but 
he’s slim just the same. Hadn’t you better keep an eye on 
him, Piet?” 

“No. We’ve nothing to fear from him. What could he 
do?” Piet rose lazily and stretched his big bulk, chuckling 
softly. “It’s great, ma-an, I tell you. We get the diamonds 
for nothing; the reward for capturing an I. D. B., and you’ll 
be able to work for us, free from suspicion, from now on. 
Who’d think of suspecting Detective Sergeant Brimmer, the 
man who captured the Major? Shouldn’t be surprised if they 
gave you a commission.” 

Still chuckling, he pressed a hidden spring in the panelling 
of the room. A door opened, and the two men passed through 
it into a narrow passage leading to two exits at opposite sides 
of the building. 

The door closed silently behind them and the sundowner 
was left alone. About ten minutes later he lurched noisily to 
his feet and stumbled awkwardly through the door leading to 
the bar. 

Aggie looked up in surprise from her book. “Going so 
soon?” 

“Yes—hie—money’s all gone. Mus’ go an’ get some more.” 

“Have a drink on the house before you leave.” 

She poured out a generous drink which he swallowed at one 
gulp. Then he staggered out of the door and down the dusty 
street. 

“My, but he’s got a nawful thirst,” said Aggie as she went 
into the parlour to tidy up. 

Near the corner table where the sundowner had been sitting 
was a large flower-pot containing a withered rose-bush, and the 
earth was moist almost to the point of muddiness. That was 
strange, for Aggie had for a long time neglected to water it. 
Aggie was empty-headed, but a close examination of the pot 
explained, even to her, the sundowner’s colossal thirst. 


20 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“I never knew a rose-bush to thrive on whisky straight, 
she mused. “I must tell Porky Brimmer.” 

Then returning to her book—she was at that exciting part 
where the hero confronts the villain with proof of his claim to 
the title—she characteristically forgot all about her discovery. 

* * * 

On the edge of the veld that surrounded the township, and 
in the shade of a stunted baobab-tree, stood a small, bell- 
topped tent such as is used by 
prospectors of the fortunate kind. 
Near by a very earnest Hottentot 
was puffing furiously at the red 
embers of a camp fire, seeking to 
bring them to a blaze that the 
water-billy might be llrought 
quicker to a boil. 

Two horses tethered to a light 
Cape cart were contentedly munch¬ 
ing the sweet green grass that was placed before them. With¬ 
in the tent was the sound of splashing water and a man’s not 
unmusical voice singing a rollicking ballad. 

After a while the splashing ceased and the song was punctu¬ 
ated with grunts as the man vigorously towelled himself. 
“Baas!” The Hottentot took the billy from the fire. 

The singing stopped. “Yes, Jim?” 

“The shaving water is ready.” 

“Good. Bring it here.” 

The Hottentot took the water into the tent and, emerging, 
sat down by the flap of the tent so that he could see the well- 
built figure of his baas. 

“The baas lied to-day.” 

“Yes, Jim?” 

“Yah! The baas said, ‘I stay here. You go to the dorp, 
Jim, and buy skoff.’ I went, but the baas did not stay here.” 
“No, Jim?” The white man turned his lathered face to- 



TWO OF A KIND 


21 


ward the Hottentot. There was a gleam of amusement in his 
gray eyes—eyes which could look so bland and childlike. 

“Yah!” Jim spat into the fire. “The baas was not wise.” 

“No, Jim?” 

“The baas has work to-night with the man called Brim¬ 
mer?” 

The white man’s chin was receiving the gentle caress of his 
razor, and for a moment he did not speak. Then he turned 
around and stared at the Hottentot in amazement. 

“How did you know all this, you son of darkness?” 

Jim grunted. “I am not altogether a fool, baas. If one 
knows how, it is possible for a black one to get drink at the 
place of Smith. And my ears are keen; they were open to 
hear the talk of the black dogs who work at that place. Aye, 
many things are known to me.” 

“I had always suspected as much. But some things are 
hidden from you.” 

“That is true, baas. Not yet do I understand why you 
wore the glass in your left eye. That is not your custom.” 

The white man laughed. 

“I have said some things are hidden from you.” 

He sluiced his face in a basin of cold water. 

“The towel, Jim,” he spluttered. 

“It is at your hand, baas,” said the Hottentot. “But you 
will not go to-night?” 

“My boots, Jim.” 

The Hottentot helped the white man pull on a pair of well- 
polished riding boots. 

“You will not go, baas?” 

“Being forewarned, what harm?” 

“No harm—if I go with you.” 

“Of a truth, yes, you shall go with me.” The white man 
considered Jim silently; then, “Do you know the donga near 
the man Brimmer’s old mine, Jim?” 

“As I know my hand, baas. At that place I have met white 
men who had dop to sell.” 


22 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Good! Then take the horses to that place to-night and 
wait for me there. Let no one see you.” 

“But what of the tent and the Cape cart?” 

“They will come to no harm. We will return before the 
rising of to-morrow’s sun.” 

Two hours later, when the sun had set and the veld was 
encompassed by a heavy darkness, the white man left the tent. 

“I’m going to the dorp, Jim,” he said, “to see that the ap¬ 
pointment is kept. In an hour start for the place—the donga 
near the man Brimmer’s mine.” 

“Yah, baas.” 

Whistling gaily, the man strode out toward the town and 
was soon lost in the blackness of the night. 

* * 

“The place is near here, Major.” 

Brimmer gasped for breath. The trip from the township 
to the deserted mines had sorely tried his little-used muscles. 
Fearing to arouse comment, the two men had made the journey 
on foot, slinking unobserved through the native quarter and 
out onto the veld. Soon a long, low object loomed up out 
of the darkness. 

“That’s the slag-dump,” explained Brimmer. “Come on; 
the shanty’s this way.” 

Turning abruptly to the right, they came to a dilapidated 
hut. Opening the door, Brimmer entered, closely followed by 
his companion. He struck a match and, lighting a candle, 
looked triumphantly at the other. 

“Pretty slick place to make a trade, ain’t it, Major?” 

“Bah Jove, yes,” the monocled one assented, noting the 
heavily barred door and the blanketed windows which pre¬ 
vented any glimmer of light being seen outside. “But where 
are the niggers?” 

Brimmer looked at his watch. 

“It’s not quite time. They’ll be here any minute now 
though.” 


j TWO OF A KIND 23 

Even as he spoke stealthy footsteps sounded outside the hut 
and a hyena screamed once. 

“That’s them now,” Brimmer whispered excitedly. “Douse 
the light while I let ’em in.” 

The light was extinguished and Brimmer cautiously opened 
the door. Dark, silent forms glided into the hut. 

The door was closed again. 

“Now the light, Major.” 

The flickering beams of the candle showed six natives huddled 
together as if for mutual encouragement. They were gaudily 
dressed in garments bought with the money earned by twelve 
months hard labour in the mines. 

“Do any of you speak English ?” 

They looked at each other blankly; then one was pushed 
forward. 

“I speak it, baas.” 

“What’s your name, boy?” 

“Sixpence, baas.” 

“Well, Sixpence, my bucko, fork out your diamonds.” 

Sixpence turned and conversed volubly with his comrades. 
“They saying,” he said after a while, “that first you must 
give the money.” 

His face now wore a bold, defiant look as he faced the two 
white men. He had no fear; were they not all on equal foot¬ 
ing, partners in crime? 

“Don’t try that game with me,” Brimmer said threateningly. 
“How can we give you the money until we have seen the 
stones?” 

Sixpence still hesitated. 

“Let me handle him,” said the man with the monocle. 

“Is it that you don’t trust us?” he asked in the vernacular, 
and the faces of the others lighted up. Here was someone 
with whom they could deal. Yet they were still content for 
Sixpence to be their spokesman. 

“How are we to know, baas? We have been tricked many 
times by white men.” 


24 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“And do you think I would trick you?” 

Sixpence rubbed his head doubtfully. “Your pardon, baas, 
but you are with this other; him we do not trust.” 

“How much do you ask for the stones?” 

“Five pounds for each one—big and small. The risk was 
great.” 

“It is a fair price. How many have you?” 

“Two each we carry here”—he touched his thigh—“and I 
have these others besides.” 

In his hand he held a thick-stemmed knobkerrie which he 
gave to the white man. It was surprisingly light. 

“Is it hollow?” 

“Aye, baas.” Sixpence took back the stick, pried out the 
plug, and six large diamonds rolled out on the floor. 

Brimmer pounced on them eagerly. 

“Lord, what a haul!” 

The other held out his hand for them and Brimmer, as if 
reluctant to lose sight of them, gave them to him. 

The man with the monocle whistled softly. “ Ton my soul, 
you’re a glutton,” he said. 

Taking off his money belt, he counted out thirty sovereigns. 

“You see, Sixpence. I pay you now for these I hold in my 
hands. As the others are given I will pay.” 

“It is good, baas,” answered Sixpence; pulling up one 
trouser leg ’way above his knee and disclosing a long, ugly-look- 
ing wound. He gently opened it with a sharp knife and ex- ' 
tracted two diamonds. These, which were much smaller than 
the others, Sixpence wiped carefully and gave to the white man. 

“Ten more pounds for you, Sixpence,” said the white man. 
“You will be a rich man. Is it your plan to become a head¬ 
man ?” 

“Nay. But there is a maiden I greatly desire.” 

The white man laughed. “It is ever thus.” 

Meanwhile the other natives were quickly following their 
leader’s example. Each had a deep wound in the fleshy part 
of his thigh and each took from his wound two diamonds. 


TWO OF A KIND 


25 


Brimmer nudged the arm of his companion. 

“You’re a fool to give them that price. Why didn’t you 
beat them down? They’d have accepted a quid apiece and 
been glad to get it.” 

The other shrugged his shoulders. “There’s enough for all,” 
he said, “and they’ve earned their share.” 

Soon the trading was finished. 

Once again the light was extinguished that the door might 
be opened to permit the natives to leave. 

“Trek fast,” ordered Brimmer. 

The natives quickly disappeared in the darkness and as the 
two white men turned to reenter the hut they were hailed 
softly. 

Brimmer’s hand leaped to his revolver. 

“It’s only me,” said Piet Deemster as he joined them. 

“Couldn’t trust me, eh?” sneered Brimmer. “Well, let’s 
go inside. It gives me the creeps hanging outside here.” 

They entered the hut and Brimmer busied himself with the 
lighting of the candle. Suddenly he wheeled round, revolver 
in hand. 

“Throw up your hands, Major. You’re under arrest for 
illicit diamond buying.” 

There was a look of amazement on the Major’s face; then 
smilingly he raised his hands. 

“So that’s the game, is it, Brimmer? I should have known 
better than trust you and Piet Deemster.” 

The two men grinned. 

“Knew us all the time, did you? Well, much good that’ll 
do you. Frisk him, Piet.” 

The Dutchman quickly turned out the captive’s pockets. 

“The fool hasn’t got a gun,” Piet said. 

“Get the stones then. They’re in his money-belt.” 

Piet removed the belt, opened it and pawed lovingly over 
the diamonds. 

“You’ve got a reputation for being damned slim. Major, but 
you’ve run up against it this time.” 


26 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Bah Jove, yes. But Em glad to know you’re an honest 
man, old top.” 

Brimmer glowered. 

“Give him back his belt, Piet. Leave a couple of stones in 
it so that they can be found on him when he’s searched at head¬ 
quarters. Give me half his cash. I ought to have it all by 
rights.” 

As they divided the spoils a look of triumph passed over the 
face of their captive. “Not so honest after all, are you, 
Sergeant?” 

“Stow your gab!” 

“You’d better get a move on, Piet, if you’re going to catch 
the mail train south.” 

“Can you manage the Major alone?” 

“Here.” Brimmer threw a pair of handcuffs on the table. 
“Put these on him. He can’t play any trick then.” 

At that moment the door opened violently and a tall masked 
figure appeared. 

“Hands up, Messrs. Brown and Jones—or shall we say 
Brimmer and Jones?” drawled the intruder. “And you too, 
my gentle double, keep yours up.” 

Brimmer and Piet obeyed with a curse and glowered viciously 
at the newcomer. 

“ ’Pon my word,” the latter went on, “but I hate to break up 
a nice little family party. Still I-” 

“Who the hell are you?” shouted Brimmer. 

The man who had elected to call himself Black watched the 
masked man with a smile of baffled amusement. 

“You’re the Major,” he said finally. 

The masked man smiled and bowed. 

“Then who are you?” Piet exploded, turning on Black. 

“Let’s postpone inquiries, gentlemen,” the masked intruder 
interposed. “I’ve no time to spare, I’m sorry to say.” 

Reaching behind him, he tore down the blanket which cov¬ 
ered the window. As he did so there was crash of broken 
glass and the muzzle of a rifle appeared in the opening. 


TWO OF A KIND 


27 


‘‘My boy, Jim, is at the other end of the rifle,” the Major 
explained airily. “His hand’s on the trigger and he’s a good 
shot. So I wouldn’t move if I were you. Sorry, Piet!” 

The Major took the Dutchman’s revolver and threw it out 
the door. Brimmer’s quickly followed. 

“I’m surprised,” said the Major, running his hand over the 
man who had impersonated him, “that you are unarmed. It 
is not the thing, you know, when playing with gentlemen like 
these two. They’re a pretty pair, aren’t they?” he went on, 
serenely eyeing the baffled two. “Turn out your pockets, old 
dears. No, not yours, laddie. I can’t imagine that they’ve 
left you anything. You will please keep your hands elevated 
—a little higher. That’s splendid, thanks. You’re simply 
perfect.” 

Turning his attention to the table, he surveyed the contents 
of Brimmer’s and Piet’s pockets. Disregarding the money he 
picked up the little chamois bag into which Piet had put the 
stones. 

“This is really too good of you, my dear fellow. I’ve 
always heard that if one kept one’s ears open in Whip Smith’s 
back room one could learn something to one’s advantage. But 
I never expected anything like this, ’pon my word I didn’t. 
Diamonds, as I live, and all for me. Of course there may be 
more, but tempus fugits, and I must follow its good example.” 

He backed toward the door as he spoke. 

“I’m going now, but please keep your eye on the rifle in the 
window. It will keep you covered for another five minutes. 
I must have a little leeway before allowing a zealous police¬ 
man like you—’pon my soul I don’t know who’s the policeman 
and who’s the thief—give chase to me. And now,” the voice 
changed and he winked broadly, “to sleep and drink, to drink 
and sleep.” 

With a quick leap he was outside the hut and slammed the 
door behind him. 

In wrathful silence the men watched the unwavering muzzle 
of the gun in the window. Soon to their ears came the sound 


28 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


of mocking laughter and the rapid drumming of horse’s hoofs. 
The sound quickly died away in the distance, but they were 
still held up by the threat of the gun. 

The minutes passed swiftly. Then Black wearily let his 
hands sink to his side and walked over to the window. Taking 
hold of the gun muzzle, he pulled into the room the useless 
barrel of a rifle. 

“Held up by that!” he said in disgust. 

Brimmer and Piet lowered their hands. 

“It was the sundowner,” Brimmer exclaimed, remembering 
the Major’s last remark. 

“It was the Major,” said the man Black. 

“At least he didn’t get your diamonds,” said Piet, not sens¬ 
ing the full meaning of the other’s statement. 

“No. He didn’t get mine.” 

“Look here,” said Brimmer belligerently, “if he was the 
Major, who the hell are you?” 

“Perhaps Sergeant Brimmer would know me better if I 
wore a black mustache and the uniform of the corps he has 
disgraced,” said the other curtly. 

Brimmer’s jaw sagged. 

“The game’s up, Piet. It’s Colonel Hammond the new 
chief,” he said weakly. 

“Exactly. I told you this morning that I couldn’t under¬ 
stand some of the things that were happening down here. I 
left the train at the siding, shaved, changed into civilians—and 
a monocle—and returned to investigate. 

“My plans miscarried a little. First, because you couldn’t 
play even a crooked game straight, and secondly, because the 
Major—the real one—butted in unexpectedly.” 

Intercepting the desperate look that passed between the two 
men, he w T ent on: 

“Murder wouldn’t help you. There’s a letter on the desk 
of my second in command, telling him of my suspicions and 
plans. You’ll return to your quarters and report yourself 
under arrest, Sergeant Brimmer. As for you, Deemster, 


TWO OF A KIND 


29 


I’ve no evidence that will hold in court against you. But I’d 
advise you to depart for other parts within the next twenty- 
four hours.” 

With that, the chief walked briskly out of the hut, content 
that he had won part of his game. But he overlooked the 
power of Whispering Smith, the brain behind Deemster and 
Brimmer, the man whose power the Major had first felt that 
day long ago when he had flown to the defence of Jim. 

* * 

Entering the police quarters and making himself known to 
the man in charge, Hammond entered an inner room and 
ordered Juffa, one of the native police boys, to be sent to him. 

“Well, Juffa,” he said when they were alone, “did you 
obey?” 

“Aye, inkosi. All this day I kept a close watch over the 
Hottentot.” 

“Where went he?” 

“To the veld beyond the town, to the south. There stands 
a white man’s camp, a tent and a Cape cart with two horses. 
A white man was there, but him I did not see. He was in 
the tent; I heard him singing.” 

“That was well done. Go outside and wait. In a little 
while I will come and you shall show me the way to this white 
man’s camp. See that you keep this secret.” 

“It is an order, inkosi ” 

Saluting smartly Juffa withdrew and passing out of the 
building, waited in the darkness near by. 

In a few minutes Colonel Hammond followed. Outside the 
door he paused while he lighted a cigar and then moved off 
slowly down the street. 

He was quickly joined by Juffa. “It was this way,” the 
police boy said softly. 

The two broke into an easy run, soon coming to the place 
where the Major had his camp. A light was burning in the 
tent. 


3 o THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“That is all, Juffa,” said Hammond. “You may return to 
sleep and forget.” 

“To hear is to obey.” 

Juffa melted silently into the blackness of the night and the 
chief went forward alone. Just as he was about to pull back 
the flap of the tent and enter, revolver in hand, a curt voice 
challenged : 

“Who’s there? Throw up your hands.” 

“Oh, come now, Major,” Hammond replied. “That talk 
doesn’t go. You can’t see me and I have a good idea where 
you are.” 

He was answered by a soft chuckle right at his elbow. 

“I’ve always found it convenient,” went on the voice, “to 
have two exits to my tent.” The cold barrel of a revolver was 
pressed against the police chief’s temple. “Enter, if you please, 
kind sir,” the voice mocked. 

Concealing his chagrin, Hammond went into the tent closely 
followed by the Major, who, recognizing his impersonator 
made a gesture of apology and threw his revolver down on the 
cot bed. 

“Please forgive me, old top,” he cried. “I had no idea it 
was you; ’pon my soul, I didn’t.” He waved to a deck-chair. 
“Take a seat—or perhaps you’d prefer the cot.” 

Hammond slowly lowered himself into the chair. 

“Have a smoke, Major,” he said, proffering his cigar-case. 

“Thanks, I don’t mind if I do.” 

For a while the two men smoked in silence, each striving to 
take the other’s measure. 

“I’m glad you came,” drawled the Major finally. “I was 
rather expecting Brimmer or Piet—the bally rotters.” 

“Is this game worth the candle, Major?” said Hammond 
gently. 

The Major looked blank. “Worth the candle? Oh, yes, 
I see what you mean. Why, my dear old chap, you have no 
idea what a bully time I’m having.” 

“We need men like you in the Service, Major.” 


TWO OF A KIND 


3i 


“Thanks for the compliment, old top, but you will pardon 
me if I reply that I don’t need the police. Brimmer’s a police¬ 
man, isn’t he?” 

“He was.” 

The Major chuckled. “You have the official curtness, old 
dear. But I’m not so sure that you’ll get rid of Brimmer so 
easily. I’ve heard that the police are owned by a rotter named 
Whispering Smith who indulges in crime on a large scale.” 

The other nodded. 

“It’s true,” he said briefly, “that Smith has enormous power, 
but not all the police are crooked, and he hasn’t a hold over 
all the government officials. We’ll get him sometime and 
then-” 

He stopped abruptly, as if fearful of saying too much, and 
came back to his original question. “Damn it all, man, why 
are you running against the law?” 

“That’s a bally personal question, don’t you think?” said 
the Major a trifle heatedly. 

Hammond flushed. 

“Yes, it is, but we’re not children; don’t let’s bandy words. 
Why don’t you play straight? A pardon could be arranged 
and-” 

The Major’s hand went up in protest. “Don’t say it, old 
man. Did you know I’d served a jail sentence?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you know the circumstances?” 

“No.” 

“I was framed—I didn’t know anything about the laws. 
Someone gave me a diamond, and while I was still wondering 
what it was all about, I was arrested and sentenced to two 
years’ imprisonment. As a result, my guv’nor disowned me, 
and the girl I thoughtlwas goin’ to marry after I’d made a 
pile, jilted me.” 

“I’m sorry, old man,” said the chief with an awkward at¬ 
tempt at sympathy. 

“Sorry, hell!” the Major exclaimed bitterly. “When I came 


32 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


out I joined Jim—the faithfullest chap living—and disappeared 
for a time, gaining knowledge, fitting myself for the tinie when 
I could come back to the diamond fields and make the syndicate 
pay for the rotten law they forced 
upon the country; make ’em pay for 
the things I’ve lost and the two years 
of hell I suffered. You know how 
I’ve succeeded! I’ve fooled your 
men—the honest ones—again and 
again. And Jim, the faithful, ugly 
grinning old Hottentot has been with 
me through it all.” The Major 
straightened up. “Excuse me, chief,” 
he said, lapsing into a drawl again. 
“I’m gettin’ deucedly sentimental.” 

“Yes,” assented the other, “you almost made me forget why 
I came out here.” 

“Just why did you come, chief?” 

“I want the diamonds you took from Brimmer and Piet to¬ 
night.” 

“I took diamonds away from a policeman? You flatter me, 
old top.” 

“Oh, stop joshing, Major. I know you’ve got them, and 
you know that I know you’ve got ’em.” 

“Gettin’ rather complicated, what? But how do you know 
I’ve got them?” 

“I saw you take them.” 

“Yes, so you did. But what then? You can’t find them 
and you can’t prove that I took them.” 

“I think that my word—” Hammond began gently. 

“Would be taken before mine,” finished the Major. “Ex¬ 
actly. But what of the rest of the story. How would it go? 
Brimmer and Piet and you—the new head of the police 
—in a deserted hut, at night. Diamonds galore. Pray what 
was our good friend the chief doing there? Understand 
that is not my question, but that of the magistrate who is, 



TWO OF A KIND 33 

perhaps, in Smith’s pay, and—oh, you know how the talk goes 
round.” 

Hammond made a gesture of impatience. 

“So someone took the diamonds away,” went on the Major 
airily. 

“You took the diamonds.” 

“Can you prove it? Remember, the light was dim and the 
man was masked.” 

“Are you going to give me the diamonds?” 

“Really, you are bally persistent. Supposin’ I had ’em. 
Why should I give them back? Who loses? You’ve got the 
information you wanted regarding Brimmer and Piet. You 
win. You can’t say the syndicate loses when they are con¬ 
sidering closing down their mines part of the year for fear of 
flooding the market. No, I can’t see-” 

“You forget, Major,” interposed Hammond, “that I paid 
five pounds apiece for the stones.” 

“My word, you did? That’s rich. I wonder if Jim could 
get a line on the natives you dealt with. It ’ud be rich to 
bring a charge of I. D. B. against you. What with the natives 
and Piet and Brimmer, I’d have a good case.” 

Hammond smiled. 

“But I couldn’t do that,” went on the Major, “my bloomin’ 
conscience wouldn’t stand for it. But you see, don’t you, old 
chap, that there’s no moral reason why I should give you the 
stones—always supposin’ I had ’em.” 

“No. I don’t see that quite.” 

“I’m afraid you’re a little tired; the old brain’s not workin’ 
at top pressure. But at least you’ll admit that you have no 
case against me?” 

“You forget my witnesses, Piet and Brimmer.” 

“No, I don’t forget them. But they couldn’t swear to me. 
They couldn’t possibly swear that the man in the mask, the 
sundowner and the Major are one and the same person. Be¬ 
sides I can’t imagine that they would relish giving evidence 
to help you win a case. Really I can’t.” 


34 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Supposing I offered to forget all about their past misdeeds 
on condition that they swore to your identity. What then?” 

“What then? Why you’d have me bluffed—supposin’ I had 
the diamonds. But you couldn’t do that.” 

“No, I couldn’t do that.” 

“So you see,” exclaimed the Major triumphantly, “your 
case falls flat.” 

“It does,” admitted Hammond, rising to leave. 

“Won’t you stay awhile longer? It’s ages since I had a 
chat like this. I’d like to be able to persuade you how moral 
I really am.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Hammond with a smile. 
“Good night, Major.” 

“Wait a minute, old chap.” The Major opened a small 
trunk and took out a roll of banknotes. Counting out sixteen 
five-pound notes, he handed them to the chief. 

“It’s a reimbursement of the money you paid for the stones,” 
he said in explanation. “We can dispense with a receipt.” 

“Thanks, Major,” said Hammond, pocketing the money. 
“And Major-” 

“Yes?” 

“Where are you going to be for the next month or so?” 

The Major laughed. “Won’t say, old top, call it on a 
hunting trip, but before very long I’ll be back here. There’s a 
little mining venture I’m interested in and—but why?” 

“Because very soon I fancy I’m going to need you, will have 
some work on hand that only a chap like you can handle. 
Some day I’m going to send for you and-” 

“Perhaps I’ll come. Sure you must go? Good night.” 

“Good night.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 

T HE little tin shack which served as an office for the 
owners of the Star Mine was insufferably hot, but not 
hotter than the tempers of its two occupants—“Lanky” 
Johnson and “Squint” Turner. 

Lanky’s face, usually wearing a meek, mock pious expres¬ 
sion, was distorted with rage. He rose suddenly to his feet 
and with a wild sweep of his hand knocked the whisky bottle 
from the table. 

“That’s all you’re fit for,” he screamed in a high-pitched 
voice. “That’s all you do; sit and guzzle whisky all day at a 
quid a bottle.” 

“What’s that to you?” growled the other. His eyes glared 
balefully from a jungle of bushy eyebrows and unkempt beard. 
“It comes out of my share of the takings, don’t it?” 

Lanky, with an effort, gained control of his temper, and re¬ 
sumed his seat. 

“What’s the use of quarrelling?” he asked in a mild oily 
voice. “We’re partners, ain’t we Squint?” 

“Of course we are,” assented the other. 

“Then let’s get down to business and see if we can’t settle 
this. I’m right, ain’t I, when I say we’ve got to have niggers 
to work the mine or else close down?” 

Squint nodded. 

“Well! Ain’t it your job to see we get niggers? That 
was the agreement. Me to look after the mining; you to boss 
the niggers.” 


36 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Whose fault is it we ain’t got no niggers, I’d like to know? 
Tell me that.” 

“Yourn, Squint. You treat ’em worse nor dogs, and of 
course they won’t stay.” 

“How do you want me to treat ’em? Make love to ’em?” 
Squint laughed, showing a row of uneven, yellow teeth. 

“At any rate,” continued Lanky, “you might use ’em a bit 
better at the compound. I don’t hold with pampering niggers 
myself and kick every one who comes in my way; do it on 
general principles. But that’s all right. They don’t mind a 
kick now and then—they’d think something was wrong if they 
didn’t get it. What they do mind, though, is the way you 
treat them at the compound and the rotten food you dish out 
to ’em.” 

“I had a hundred for yer at the beginning of the month, 
didn’t I? It ain’t my fault that the most of ’em deserted, is 
it? If you’d let me report it to the police, the way I wanted, 
we’d have had ’em all back by this time.” 

Lanky snorted. 

“Use your brains, Squint. We don’t want nothing to do 
with the police one way or the other; can’t afford to have them 
poking their noses into our affairs. The thing for you to do, 
Squint, is to make a trip to one of the kraals and see if you 
can’t pick up a few niggers. Take plenty of whisky with you; 
that’ll fetch ’em in. And when you get ’em see that they don’t 
get a chance to desert. Set a guard on the compound and rope 
them together when they go to and from the mine.” 

“Bit risky feeding them with whisky, Lanky. The police 
might hear of it and then there ’ud be hell to pay.” 

Again Lanky snorted. 

“Police! What can they know about it? Once a month 
they make a trip through the District. One’s due here to-day 
or to-morrow and when he’s gone we won’t be troubled by the 
law for a month. Where’s the risk?” 

“I suppose it ’ud be all right,” agreed Squint. “I’ll try it 
anyway when the police patrol’s been and gone.” 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


37 

“That’s the way to talk, Squint. You can do it. Well, so 
long. I’m going down to the store.” 

As Lanky left the hut Squint picked up the whisky bottle 
from the floor and seeing that the contents of it had not entirely 
been spilled, put it up to his lips and drank noisily. 

Then he, too, left the hut. 

Just as he emerged from the doorway he collided with a 
stout elderly native. It mattered little to Squint that the 
fault was all his; the native had insulted him by knocking 
against him and the native must pay. Squint had his own the¬ 
ory of dealing with the native question, and it was a theory 
he did not hesitate to put into execution. 

“Take that, you black dog; and that, and that,” he cried 
in an almost insane rage. 

The native reeled before the blows, not daring to fight back, 
and finally fell to the ground as one of Squint’s blows caught 
him full on the jaw. 

At that moment a white man rode up, dismounted quickly, 
and ran over to where Squint stood over the prostrate form of 
his luckless victim. 

Squint looked up as the stranger approached, and an ugly 
sneer crossed his face as he noticed the newcomer’s immaculate 
attire, the highly polished polo boots, the glittering spurs, the 
well-fitting riding breeches, and the silk shirt, with turned 
down collar, open at the neck. 

“What are you doing ?” The question was put mildly. 

“And what’s that to you, darling?” 

The other fumbled in the breast pocket of his shirt and pro¬ 
duced a gold rimmed monocle which he fixed in his eye. 

“ ’Pon my word, you are beastly rude,” he drawled. “I 
asked a civil question and”—he returned the monocle to his 
pocket. As though a mask had been withdrawn, the vacuous, 
almost inane expression vanished from his face—“and,” he 
continued, “I expect a civil answer.” 

“Do you now?” scoffed Squint, with a laboured imitation of 
the other’s drawl. “I’m surprised, really.” 


38 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Squint was no student of human nature but, even so, had 
he been looking now at this stranger he would have seen that he 
was no man to be trifled with. The curve of the man's chin, 
the line of the mouth and, above all, the steely gray eyes, be¬ 
tokened one in whose presence it were well to walk softly. 

But Squint’s eyes were fixed on the native who sprawled 
motionless on the ground before him. 

Squint drew back his foot. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

“No?” Squint looked up with a laugh. “No?” he re¬ 
peated, but the mirth had gone from his voice. “Why not?” 

“I should feel compelled to—er—chastise you.” 

“You? Chastise me?” The mirth returned to Squint’s 
voice. He forgot his momentary fear of the stranger. He 
remembered the monocle and the soft-toned drawl. “This is 
for the nigger,” he said truculently, “and then I’ll attend to 
you—sweetheart.” 

He launched a vicious kick at the native’s ribs and the next 
instant—he never could explain how it happened—he was 
sprawling on the ground on the broad of his back. 

The Major shouted a curt order to the group of natives 
who were watching, open-mouthed, this conflict between two 
white men, and before Squint, uttering vile threats, had re¬ 
gained his feet the natives had all disappeared. 

“Now, you hog,” smiled the Major as he lightly evaded 
Squint’s furious rush, “I can deal with you.” 

Squint grunted as he swung his right for the stranger’s jaw. 

“That was a powerful blow,” taunted the other, “but so 
wide of the mark. You’re a bad judge of distance, really. 
Let me show you.” 

He stepped in quickly and shook Squint from head to foot 
with a right jolt, and before Squint could counter was back 
out of range once more. 

“Fight, damn you, don’t dance,” snarled the miner. 

“In a moment. Don’t be so bloomin’ impetuous; you nearly 
hit me that time. Besides, I want to apologize.” 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


39 


Squint laughed. 

‘‘Apologize? That can wait until I’m through with you. 
I’m going to spoil that pretty face of yours; you won’t save it 
by apologizing.” 

“Oh! You entirely misunderstand me,” cooed—yes, cooed 
is the correct word—the other. “I simply want to apologize 
for being forced to trip you in the presence of your natives. 
Of course you can always explain that you—er—stumbled over 
something. No need to tell them that it was my foot, eh ? 
Have a bad effect on them, you know, if they thought two 
white men were fighting. But,” he threw a hasty glance over 
his shoulder, “they’re all gone now, save the poor old boy here 
and he can’t see much, and we can have a glorious mill.” 

All the time he had been speaking the Major shifted his 
ground continually, evading Squint’s bull-like rushes. But 
now- 

“Come on,” he said. 

Again Squint rushed, and this time the Major did not side¬ 
step but cleverly blocked the blow, and the two men, standing 
toe to toe, slugged at each other. There was no attempt at 
scientific boxing. 

In build the two men were evenly matched and for a time 
it seemed that victory would go to the first man who suc¬ 
ceeded in getting in a knockout blow. 

But gradually Squint was forced to give ground. Years 
of evil living had undermined his stamina. His blows lost a 
little of their sting, and his breath came in big choking 
gasps. 

The Major, on the other hand, was hardly breathed, and 
his blows were delivered with regularity and precision. It 
was idle for Squint to endeavour to guard his vulnerable 
points. As well try to arrest the motion of a gigantic piston. 

The Major shifted his attack to Squint’s face and the miner 
wearily raised his guard. He was at the end of his rope. 

“I don’t want to be vindictive, but this is necessary.” 

The Major punctuated his words with blows. 


4 o 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“You must remember, really, to treat your niggers decently. 
It’s scum like you who make it hard for the rest of us.” 

“A nigger lover, eh?” Squint couldn’t repress the sneer. 

“Exactly. How well you put it. Of course I could knock 
you out at any moment—you’re in beastly bad condition. 
Where will you have it? On the jaw?” 

Automatically Squint raised his guard again. He was mak¬ 
ing no effort now to fight back. His sole object was to gain 
respite from the merciless rain of blows. 

“Ah. That time I fooled you,” laughed the Major. 

It was enough—too much—for Squint, and he dropped to 
the ground, totally exhausted, whining that he had had 
enough. 

“Get up,” said the Major in tones of disgust. “You haven’t 
been punished half as badly as the nigger here. And I’ll bet 
he didn’t whine.” 

Then, seeing that Squint made no effort to rise, the stranger 
dragged him by the heels into the hut, and there left him. 

As the stranger came out of the hut again a Cape cart 
drawn by two mules came to a halt opposite the door. 

“You’re late, Jim,” the Major called to the thick-set Hotten¬ 
tot driver. 

“Aye, baas. The evil spirits have followed me to-day. 
First Mafouta,” he pointed to one of the mules, “broke her 
bridle, and then—” 

“You are ever ready with excuses, Jim,” the Major said. 
“But come now and help me with this one.” 

The white man bent down and examined the victim of 
Squint’s brutality with a practised eye. His ribs were sorely 
bruised and blood streamed from an ugly gash over his eye, 
but apparently there were no bones broken. 

“How came he by his hurt, baas?” asked the Hottentot. 

“It is of no matter. Help me to carry him to the wagon.” 
Silently the Hottentot obeyed and when they had made the 
unconscious man as comfortable as possible on a pile of sacks 
which they placed on the floor of the wagon, the Major ten- 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 41 

derly bathed his wounds and forced some brandy down his 
throat. 

With much spluttering the native regained consciousness and 
looked around the wagon with an expression of fear in his 
eyes. As his gaze fell upon the white man, however, the fear 
left his eyes, and he endeavoured, with an attempt at dignity, 
to sit erect. 

“Tomasi, the headman, thanks you, white man,” he said. 

“There is no need of thanks, Headman,” replied the Major. 

“I am of another mind. I saw something of the strife be¬ 
tween you and that other one before the great darkness came 
upon me.” 

“It is best to forget that, Headman. It would not be 
well to talk in the kraal of what happened here this day.” 

“I understand, white man, and my lips are sealed. Never¬ 
theless, you are my friend. The kraal of Tomasi is open to 
you; his cattle are your cattle, his young men shall spring to 
your command, his maidens-” 

“Tomasi would do well to remember,” the Major inter¬ 
rupted hastily, “that he is speaking to a white man. Where 
is your kraal ?” 

“A long day’s trek from here on two legs; a short forenoon’s 
trek on four legs” (he meant on horseback). “In the direc¬ 
tion of the setting of the sun from here you must travel.” 

“And you are going there, now?” 

“Aye. I came hither to hold speech with that—other white 
man. But the desire is no longer with me. I will go back to 
my kraal and try to forget this shame. Will you come, too? 
My young hunters will show you good sport. A lion ha? 
been troubling us of late.” 

The Major was silent for a few moments, then asked, “Is 
there a store in this place, Jim?” 

“Aye, baas,” answered the Hottentot. “I passed one half a 
mile or more down the road yonder. I think that there is 
little there for you. It is only a store trading truck to the 
black dogs who live hereabouts.” 


42 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The Major nodded. 

“Go on with Tomasi, Jim. I will catch up with you in a 
little while. I will stay at your kraal, Headman, and go 
a-hunting with your young men.” 

He climbed down from the wagon and catching his horse 
leaped lightly into the saddle. 

“Ohe, baas!” 

He turned questioningly to the Hottentot. “Yes, Jim?” 

“I was telling you why I was late.” 

“You told me, Jim. You said the bridle broke—or was it 
that the heat of the day made sleep very desirable?” 

“It was the bridle, baas. I speak true word. Besides, soon 
after you left me a Nonquai, a mounted policeman, stopped me 
and asked many questions concerning you!” 

“All of which you answered?” 

“Without doubt, baas,” replied the Hottentot gravely. “He 
spoke also of diamonds, and searched through the wagon, hop¬ 
ing, he said, to find some hidden there.” 

“Did he find any?” 

The Hottentot grinned. “No, baas.” 

The Major smiled, took up the reins in his hand and a mo¬ 
ment later was galloping down the dusty trail. 

“I’ll be with you at sundown, Jim,” he called back over his 
shoulder. 

The Hottentot gazed after the fast retreating figure of his 
baas, a tender, whimsical smile on his squat, homely face. 

“What a man!” he ejaculated. 

“A man indeed,” agreed the headman who had climbed on 
to the driver’s seat beside the Hottentot. 

“You are not altogether a fool, Headman,” agreed Jim. 
“He is a man among men, and I—I am his servant.” 

Then with a loud cracking of the whip and much shouting 
Jim started his mules off at a swift pace down the dusty road 
in the opposite direction to that taken by his baas. 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


43 


As the Major came within a few hundred yards of the mud- 
walled, thatch-roofed huts which comprised the store and the 
storekeeper’s living quarters, he 
pulled up his horse to a walk and 
leisurely surveyed the country 
around. 

It was typical African bush 
veld country and as such little 
worthy of special note to the horse¬ 
man. Behind him, half a mile 
or more away, the tin-roofed 
building of the mine reflected the 
rays of the sun and the heavy 
thud, thud of the stamps came to the ears of the watcher. 
Near the mine he could see a large collection of huts, en¬ 
circled, he knew, by a strong stockade. It was the com¬ 
pound where the native labourers of the mine were housed 
and carefully guarded. 

There is much to be said, for and against the compound 
system. True, it protects the mines from desertions and 
thievery, and also protects the natives from falling victims to 
the snares set for them by degenerate white men. It all de¬ 
pends upon the compound manager. His power is absolute. 
He can make the labourer contented and happy, or reduce him 
to a state little better, often worse, than slavery. For, once a 
native has entered into contract to work at a mine there is no 
escape for him until his time has expired, or unless his em¬ 
ployer (personified by the compound manager), permits him 
to leave. He may, occasionally, desert, but without the 
necessary pass which all natives must carry-—and that is held 
by the compound manager—his arrest is only a matter of time 
and he will be returned to the mine. But desertions are rare, 
for the weight of the law also falls upon the headman of the 
deserter’s kraal, and it is better to serve the white man, endur¬ 
ing cruel treatment, than to face the wrath of a tribal leader. 

An angry scowl crossed the face of the Major as he thought 



44 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


of the man Squint and the hard lot of the natives who were so 
unfortunate as to be in his charge. 

He noticed now, for the first time, that a horse was tied out¬ 
side one of the storekeeper’s huts. Riding up to it he dis¬ 
mounted and hesitated a moment—undecided which hut to 
enter. 

Then from one of the huts came the sound of voices—angry 
voices. 

Entering, he saw a girl, a dark-haired, roguish-eyed girl— 
but just now her eyes flashed with anger. A whip of rhinocer¬ 
os hide was in her hand, with which she was threatening a 
tall, thin man of smug, hypocritical aspect. 

“Don’t you think you had better go? You’re not wanted, 
I fancy.” 

Lanky turned around to face the intruder, his hand falling 
to the butt of his revolver. For a moment the two men faced 
each other in silence; then—he was a better judge of human 
nature than Squint—Lanky hurried from the hut. 

“Really, it’s too funny,” laughed the Major. “I feel like a 
bally knight errant, or something of that sort. I suppose that 
the tall gentleman who has just left is Lanky, partner of my 
friend Squint?” 

The girl, who had been watching him closely, nodded. 

“Yes. That was Lanky. But if you’re a friend of Squint’s 
you must be a friend of Lanky, and if that’s so I don’t quite see 
why-■” 

“No, really, you misunderstand me; Squint is not really a 
friend of mine. Just an acquaintance, so to speak. I had an 
occasion to speak severely to him; oh, quite severely—a little 
while back.” 

The girl came over to him with an impetuous rush. 

“I’m a fool,” she said reproachfully as she held out her 
hand, “but please believe that I’m grateful for your-” 

“Not a word. You were holding up your end rippingly. 
No need for me at all. You had the whip hand, in a manner 
of speaking.” He chuckled softly. 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


45 


The girl smiled. “My name is Helene. Helene Paul.” 

“Rippin’ name, absolutely.” 

“And I should like to know yours.” 

“Mine? Oh yes, of course. Call me Major. What?” 

“Major Watt?” 

He looked blankly at her. 

“What? Oh, no. You misunderstand me, Miss Helene. 
Just Major.” 

“Then please, Major, may I have my hand?” 

He released it in confusion, fumbled in his pocket for his 
monocle and it was not until he had it firmly in place that he 
could meet the girl’s candid glance. Then the hut echoed to 
shouts of laughter—the laughter of youth. 

“But seriously,” he said sobering suddenly, “is there any¬ 
thing I can do to help you? I think I’ll go after Lanky. I’d 
like to have a few words with him.” 

“No, don’t, please,” she begged. “It would only make mat¬ 
ters worse.” 

“Worse?” said the Major. “Why are you here all alone 
anyway?” 

“You see,” she answered with a sudden burst of confidence 
—the Major was that sort of man—“my father once owned 
the Star Mine but he used to gamble, and drink, too, a great 
deal. He lost a lot of money to Squint and Lanky and he 
signed over his claim to them in payment of his gambling debts. 
He has always claimed since that he didn’t, but they have his 
signature to the transfer. Daddy has lived on here ever since. 
He says that sooner or later the two will fall out and then 
he’ll be able to get the mine back. Daddy doesn’t believe in 
honour between thieves. Lanky was very good to us at first; 
at least I thought so then. He loaned us money to stock this 
store and promised us all the mine trade; you know, I mean 
that he would buy all his provisions through us and let us have 
a chance to sell to the natives. But he never kept his promise. 
And now he demands the repayment of his loan or, failing that, 
wants me to marry him. We can’t pay back the money, and 


46 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

I won’t marry him, though I did let him think I would in 
order to gain time. Alan will be here to-day or to-morrow 
and then everything will be all right.” 

“And who’s this lucky fellow Alan?” 

“Trooper Alan Wade of the police,” the girl said proudly. 

“And very pleased to make your acquaintance, Major.” 

The two turned with a start to face a well-built, sun- 
browned young trooper, and with a glad cry of “Alan!” the 
girl ran to greet him. She stopped short, however, and raised 
her hands above her head in mock horror at the sight of the 
revolver he held in his hand. 

“Mercy, kind sir,” she begged. 

“Just a minute, Helene. I’ve a little business matter I want 
to talk over with the Major.” 

“My dear chap,” said the Major impatiently, “won’t you 
fellows ever let me have any peace? Here I’ve come on an 
innocent little hunting expedition and you cheerful idiots camp 
upon my trail. What is it this time? Do you want to see 
my hunting license, or my vaccination marks?” 

“What is the trouble, Alan?” asked the girl. And before 
he had time to answer she continued, “And whatever the trou¬ 
ble is, Alan Wade, I want you to understand that you’re not 
going to arrest the Major here. He’s just stopped Lanky 
from insulting me and you are going to stay here and talk with 
me, here in this hut, for fifteen minutes. That will give the 
Major a fair start.” 

“I can’t do that, Helene,” Wade replied slowly. “Of 
course I’m grateful to the Major, but-” 

He stopped, tongue-tied, before the scornful glance of the 
girl. 

“Really, Miss Helene,” expostulated the Major, “you can’t 
interfere with an officer of the law in performance of his duty. 
It isn’t done, you know. But what is the trouble, Wade? I 
think I ought to know what it is all about; ’pon my soul I 
do.” 

“Some time ago,” said Wade, watching the Major’s face 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


47 


closely, “one of the detectives attached to the mines at Dia- 
mondville, tried to trap a notorious I. D. B. His plan was to 
get this man—call him the Captain—to buy some diamonds 
from him and afterward arrest the Captain with the diamonds 
in his possession. Knowing that the Captain was an expert 
appraiser of diamonds in the rough the detective borrowed 
from one of the mines a number of good quality stones. He 
showed them to the Captain who appeared very interested but 
said he had no money with him, and asked the detective to call 
at the hotel the following night. When the detective ap¬ 
peared to keep his appointment the Captain again examined the 
stones, haggled about the price, and finally refused to buy 
them.” 

Wade paused for breath. 

“Interestin’, very,” murmured the Major. “But I don’t 
quite see-” 

Wade held up his hand. 

“There’s more,” he said. “Next morning, when the de¬ 
tective returned the stones to the mine, he discovered that the 
Captain had, somehow, substituted imitations for the real 
stones. Returning to the hotel he discovered that the Captain 
had departed!” 

As Wade concluded his story Helen exclaimed indignantly, 

“And it served Mr. Detective right. I hope he gets ar¬ 
rested for I. D. B. Of all the rotten tricks, trying to trap a 
man that way is the rottenest.” 

The Major made a fluttering, helpless gesture with his 
hands. 

“But I don’t see what this had to do with me, my dear 
Wade. Of course I understand that I am supposed to be the 
Captain of your story—you did mean that, didn’t you? But 
granting that, you don’t think I’d be such an ass as to carry 
the diamonds about with me. Why, I should have got rid of 
them ages ago.” 

“Perhaps you have. But it seemed rather suspicious to us 
when we happened to hear that you were heading this way on 


48 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

a hunting trip. But that alone might not have meant any¬ 
thing, only at the same time we heard that a certain Portuguese 
trader of rather a questionable character was also heading this 
way.” 

The Major laughed. 

“Really, you fellows of the police are getting to be regular 
sleuths. It’s positively delicious the way you put two and two 
together—and make five.” 

“I’ve examined your native, Jim, and searched your wagon,” 
Wade said stolidly, “and now I’m going to search you.” 

“No, Alan.” 

“But yes, Miss Helene,” remonstrated the Major. “These 
I. D. B.’s are terrible people, you know, and if dear old Wade 
here thinks he’s on the track of one, who are we to stand in 
the way of the law?” 

“Look here, Major,” said Wade uneasily, “if you’ll give me 
your word that you are not carrying the stones I’ll—” 

“Give you my word? Now what good is the word of a 
suspected I. D. B.? No! I’m afraid you must search me. 
Will you leave us, Miss Helene? You might like to make the 
acquaintance of my horse.” 

Half an hour later the Major came briskly from the hut and 
walked over to where Helene was feeding carrots to his horse. 
Wade, rather dejected looking, followed closely behind him. 

The young policeman was not a little bewildered as the 
result of the half hour he had spent tete-a-tete with Major. 

Thoroughly and painstakingly he had searched the I. D. B. 
suspect, and everything that was his, without discovering the 
diamonds. 

And the Major had been very helpful, insisting that he ex¬ 
amine the heels of his shoes, his revolver cartridges and the 
chambers of his revolver. 

And once Wade thought he was on the right track. The 
hip pocket of the Major’s riding breeches contained an unusu¬ 
ally large and well filled cigar case. It was of gold and a large 
letter M was picked out with cunningly set rubies. 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


49 

“I thought you smoked cigarettes, Major?” Wade had asked 
suddenly. 

“Smoke nothing else, old chap.” 

“Then why the cigars?” He held out the case. 

The Major had seemed embarrassed. 

“The case was a present and I—er—filled it with cigars 

because- Well, it would look deuced funny to carry around 

an empty case, wouldn’t it?” 

“It would be still funnier if I found the diamonds in it.” 

“Oh, now you’re spoofin’.” The Major held out his hand 
for the case, but Wade, ignoring him, emptied out the cigars 
and crumpled them one by one between his fingers, conscious 
all the time of the Major’s mocking grin. 

“What a waste of good cigars,” said the Major as Wade dis¬ 
consolately let the remains of the last cigar fall from his fingers. 

“No luck, Alan?” Helene asked as the two men neared her. 

“No. And I’m really rather glad,” Wade added. “You’re 
a good sport, Major.” 

The Major bowed. 

“Thanks, old man. But the drinks are on you, aren’t they? 
And that reminds me. I really came down here to get in a 
supply of cigarette papers and tobacco.” 

“I’ll get them for you, Major.” Helene hurried in to the 
storehouse. 

“And bring a box of your best cigars,” the Major shouted. 
“Wade will pay for them.” 

A few minutes later the girl rejoined them. 

“I haven’t brought your smokes, Major,” she said, “because 
I want you to stay for skoff. You must meet Daddy. I hope 
you write a good hand, though, for he’s so deaf we have to 
write all our conversation to him and it makes him, as mad as 
a hatter if the writing is unintelligible.” 

* * * 

Jim, the Hottentot, was in a bad temper and sulked beside 
the camp-fire. Jim thought he had good reason to be angry 


50 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

for his baas had gone off on a hunting expedition with Tomasi, 
the headman, and a party of warriors from the kraal. 

“You will stay to watch over the camp, Jim,” the Major had 
ordered. 

“But who will tend to you, baas?” Jim had expostulated. 
“Who will hand you the gun at the right moment? As for 
camp, the people hereabouts are your friends. There is no need 
for a guard.” 

But the order had been given and Jim was forced to 
stay. 

Now if Jim had a weakness it was an inordinate craving— 
rarely gratified, the Major saw to that—for the poisonous con¬ 
coctions put up by criminal white men and sold to the natives 
as whisky. Consequently, when a native came to him with the 
news—it was the second night after the Major’s departure— 
that a white man was down at the kraal giving away puzza, 
Jim did not lose any time following his informer. 

At the kraal he found a few young warriors—the rest were 
with the Major—and all the old men, gathered around a white 
man who was inviting them to help themselves to the bottles 
he put on the ground before him. 

Jim thrust his way to the front and eagerly grabbed for 
one of the bottles, but the white man knocked his hand 
away. 

“This is not for you, dog.” 

“But the baas said-” 

“Hold your tongue. It is not for you, I say. For these 
others, my friends, yes.” 

Disgruntled, Jim drew back and watched the luckier natives 
returning to their places with the coveted black bottles. 

A native near him, in a sudden access of generosity, offered 
to share his bottle with Jim, but again the white man inter¬ 
fered. 

“Neither this dog, nor his baas, are my friends,” said the 
one-eyed man. “Shall I then give puzza to my enemies?” 

And the native, fearing to offend this generous white man, 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


5i 


snatched the bottle out of the Hottentot’s hands. Not, how¬ 
ever, before Jim had managed to swallow a mouthful and, by 
so doing, fed fuel to his desire. 

“Won’t the baas please give me puzza?” he begged. 

The white man did not answer. 

“Please, baas!” 

“I will sell you a bottle for 
five pounds.” 

Jim turned sadly away. The 
white man might as well have 
asked two hundred. Then a 
happy thought struck him and he 
ran swiftly through the darkness, 
back to the camp his baas had 
pitched on a slight rise overlook¬ 
ing the kraal. 

Entering the small bell tent he groped among the Major’s 
equipment, finally locating the gold cigar case. Surely that 
was worth five pounds, perhaps more, and his baas never used 
it, and would not, therefore, miss it. If he did, Jim would 
confess. He would be punished, of course, but a future sjam¬ 
boking weighed lightly on his mind compared to the prospect 
of present puzza. So, wrapping the cigar case in a piece of 
paper, he hastened back to the kraal, and sidling up to the 
white man showed him the cigar case. 

“I will give you this for some puzza” 

“Where did you get it?” 

“It is mine. My baas lost it, and I found it.” 

The white man hesitated a moment, then pocketed the case 
and handed Jim a bottle. 

The liquor, Jim and the rest of the natives discovered, was 
singularly impotent, and in a little while they clamoured 
around the white man for more. 

“I have no more here,” he told them, “but there is plenty in 
my wagon at the ford.” 

“Then let us go there, white man,” they cried. 



52 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“It is well. But there is not enough for you all. These 
among you may come.” 

He pointed out the stronger and more sturdily built of the 
young men and, with an evil leer, finally included Jim in the 
number. 

Thirty, all told, accompanied the white man to the ford 
where there was a large wagon drawn by sixteen mules. Two 
brawny natives of another tribe brought bottles from the wagon 
in response to the white man’s bidding. 

The liquor the white man had given them at the kraal was 
greatly diluted, but this stuff was a raw spirit based on refuse 
of sugar cane, German potato spirit and further doctored by a 
high percentage of “Blue stone” (sulphate of copper!) 

It is no wonder, then, that in a very short time the ground 
around the wagon was strewn with natives in various stages of 
intoxication. 

With many a rough jest and vicious blows the two natives, 
servants of the white man, piled their drink-soddened brothers 
into the wagon. The mules were inspanned, and a few min¬ 
utes later were splashing through the waters of the ford, on 
the way to the Star Mine. 

And Squint, puffing at a cigar extracted from the Major’s 
case, felt well content with his labour-recruiting expedition. 

* * * 

One morning, a week or so later, the Major dismounted 
from his horse outside the entrance to the compound of the 
Star Mine and was about to enter, when the two owners— 
Squint and Lanky—appeared from behind the stockade, re¬ 
volvers in their hands. 

The Major looked at them with an expression of sur¬ 
prise. 

“Why all the artillery? Are you expecting a rebellion?” 

“Think you’re damned funny, don’t you?” said Squint with 
a sneer, “but we knew you’d be coming and know what you are 
after. So we’ve been on the lookout for you.” 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


53 

“Really? My word, but you’re clever. Just what have I 
come for?” 

“Get out of here before this goes off.” Squint’s fingers toyed 
with the trigger of his revolver. “We’ve got no time to waste 
with you.” 

The Major turned to Lanky. 

“What has got into the old chap’s bean? Is it an attack of 
the sun, do you think?” 

“Let me handle him,” Lanky said soothingly to the infuri¬ 
ated Squint. 

“You see, Major,” he continued, “we’ve heard of you since 
you were here last and know that you have the reputation of 
getting niggers to hand you just what you want. Here you 
might be asking them to steal a little gold from the mine. But 
we’re on to you, and I give you warning that if you’re seen 
hanging around here, you’ll be shot on sight.” 

“But you’ve got the wrong idea, entirely. I only came to 
see about my servant, Jim. I hear that he’s working at the 
mine, and really, that’s not the thing, you know. Stealing a 
fellow’s servant isn’t playin’ the game.” 

“What’s your nigger’s name?” 

“Jim. He’s a Hottentot. Rather stockily built and—oh! 
he’s just priceless, I can’t possibly get along without him. You 
see how hard this hits me?” 

The Major smiled winningly. 

Lanky turned to Squint. 

“Do you know anything about his nigger?” 

“Why, yes,” Squint replied, after feigning to consult a much 
soiled note book, “we’ve got a Hottentot named Jim working 
here. But he’s signed on all in proper order. The Major 
ain’t got no claim to him. He didn’t have a pass, but I’ve 
fixed that up all right.” 

Lanky turned once again to the Major with an oily smile. 

“You see, if this nigger, Jim, is the one you mean-” 

“Oh, I’m sure of that. They told me all about it at the 
kraal.” 


54 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Well, you have no legal claim to him. You never signed 
him on, did you?” 

“No. It never entered my head.” 

“Well, we did, and here he stays. If you think you’ve any 
complaint, the police camp is only four days away, make it 
there. But I don’t think you will.” 

“No. I wouldn’t do that. No need to call in the police 
about a little matter like this. I imagine I’ll be able to find 
another servant, though I’ll miss Jim frightfully. He’s been 
with me years. You’ll take good care of him, won’t you? I 
am rather attached to the old scoundrel.” 

“I’ll take care of him all right,” said Squint with a leer. 

“Thanks! I was sure you would.” 

The Major mounted his horse and rode off. He had only 
gone about twenty yards, however, when he wheeled and re¬ 
turned to the two men. 

“Oh, by the way,” he said. “You didn’t happen to notice 
whether Jim had my cigar case with him? It was a present 
and I rather value it.” 

“No. He had nothing like that.” 

“Thanks! I thought perhaps he might have borrowed it to 
buy puzza. He does that sort of thing once in a while and 
I have to speak quite sharply to him, I assure you.” 

“If I see him with it I’ll get it for you.” 

“You’re most accommodating. And you’re sure you can’t 
see your way clear to let Jim go?” 

“No!” shouted the two men in chorus. 

“Very well. I imagine it will teach Jim a lesson. Good 
day, gentlemen.” 

Later that same day a number of natives presented them¬ 
selves to Squint. They had heard, they said, that he had given 
lots of puzza to their friends. They had been away on a hunt 
at the time; hunting with a white man who wore a glass eye. 
A very fool of a white man, who talked like a woman. And 
they were thirsty. They, too, would work at the mine if only 
they had some puzza. 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


55 


And so Squint was able to report to Lanky that he had se¬ 
cured ten more labourers and that one of them had been as¬ 
signed to work in the kitchen. 

Had Squint known that the natives reported to him in 
response to instructions received from the Major it is quite 
certain that he would not have engaged them so quickly. 

Neither Lanky nor Squint slept that night, for their sleeping 
huts were infested by mosquitoes and flying insects of all sorts 
and sizes. Big red spiders ran up and down the walls, and all 
the scorpions and centipedes in Africa seemed to have chosen 
the huts for their rendezvous. 

And the strange part about it was that neither Lanky nor 
Squint could find any hole in the walls or roof of their re¬ 
spective huts, and the mosquito netting seemed to be intact. 
Yet the insects were there and sleep was impossible. 

They were in no mood, therefore, to exchange banter with 
the Major when he rode up to the mine the following morning. 

“Good mornin’, boys,” he hailed them gaily. “You don’t 
seem to be very chipper this morning. Didn’t you have a good 
night? You mustn’t lose your tempers. Bad for the blood 
in this hot climate. Really. But what I came to see you 
about, putting all joking on one side, is, if you won’t reconsider 
your decision. Won’t you let my servant, Jim, go? You 
won’t? Then good-bye. Hope you sleep better to-night.” 

And that night Squint found a swarm of frogs in his bed, 
under his bed, and in the roof over his bed. He did not find 
them all at one time. The last one insinuated itself between 
his blankets a few minutes before sunrise. 

Lanky’s experiences were similar. 

And once again the two men were deprived of sleep. And 
once again the Major appeared, commiserated with them, made 
his request and, being refused, galloped off down the road. 

That same day the water—brought from a hill spring every 
morning, used for preparing the white men’s food and for their 
refreshment—was undrinkable, having suddenly turned, so it 
seemed, into blood. An examination of the water would un- 


56 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

doubtedly have shown that some permanganate of potash had 
been dissolved in it. However, simultaneously with the dis¬ 
covery that the day’s supply of drinking water was undrink¬ 
able the Major appeared. 

“By Jove,” he exclaimed, when they told him of this latest 
development. “It’s just like the Bible story, don’t you know. 
Isn’t there some old Pharaoh who wouldn’t let some people go 
and was plagued just as you are. Now really, please don’t 
accuse me of witchcraft or anything like that. I’m no magi¬ 
cian. Oh, by the way, won’t you please let Jim off? I’m 
absolutely helpless without him.” 

The Major wheeled his horse just in time to avoid being 
slashed in the face by the infuriated Squint. 

“They’re weakening,” he chuckled to himself as he rode 
away. “I believe if I pressed the matter I could get Jim now. 
But it’ll do him good to stay a few days longer. He de¬ 
serves to be punished and the Lord knows I’d never have the 
heart to thrash him myself. Besides, I want to try a few more 
plagues on those two.” 

* * * 

The Major was returning to the kraal of Tomasi from his 
sixth visit to the mine. Six times he had asked for the return 
of his servant Jim, and six times his request had been refused. 

Aided by the natives, who, acting on his orders, had volun¬ 
teered to work at the mine, he had almost broken the spirits of 
the two men, Lanky and Squint. 

As the constant drip of water will wear away a stone, so by 
many petty annoyances he had completely shattered the nerves 
of the two miners. 

What, for instance, could afford greater annoyance than, 
when tormented by the heat of Africa, to seek a cooling drink, 
previously prepared, and find it, and all other water on the 
place, strongly flavoured with salt? 

“To-morrow,” the Major told himself, “they’ll pay me to 
take Jim away.” 

“Major, wait for me.” 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


57 

He reined in his horse at the cry, and turning in his saddle 
saw the girl, Helene, riding toward him. 

Since his first meeting with the girl the Major had not been 
near the store; partly because he was never fully at ease in the 
presence of women, but chiefly because he wanted to be sure 
that by no possible chance could the girl be accused of com¬ 
plicity in his dealings with the two mine owners. 

“What is it, Miss Helene?” he asked as she caught up with 
him. 

She laughed nervously. 

“It’s almost funny—but not quite. Father knocked down 
the native messenger yesterday and robbed him of the amal¬ 
gam he was taking from the mine to the settlement.” 

“Good old sport, your father.” 

“Please don’t joke, Major. You see Daddy has always 
claimed that he was cheated out of the mine, and he’s been 
dwelling on it a great deal lately—he’s getting old, you know. 
And yesterday he ambushed the messenger, and took the gold. 
I can’t make him see that he’s done a foolish thing. He says 
that it is his mine and therefore his gold. And he says he’s 
going to do it again.” 

“Phew!” 

“But that’s not all. The messenger made his way back to 
the mine and told Lanky all about it—you see he recognized 
Father. And as soon as Squint heard about it he sent a native 
runner to the police camp asking them to come up and investi¬ 
gate. I think Squint suspects you, for Lanky didn’t tell him 
that Father took the money and he told the boy—the messenger, 
you know—not to say anything about it.” 

“Pretty considerate of Lanky. But why?” 

“He says he’ll let the matter drop if I’ll marry him. If I 
don’t Father will be arrested and-” 

She hid her face in her hands. 

“What did you intend doing?” the Major asked gently. 

“I was going to ride to meet the policeman who comes to 
investigate. It will be Alan. I’ve stolen the amalgam from 


58 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Daddy’s hiding place and I was going to see if Alan wouldn’t 
return it to Lanky and swear that he had found it hidden some¬ 
where along the way. I know it sounds rather a scatter¬ 
brained plan, but I couldn’t think of anything else.” 

“It isn’t much of a plan, Miss Helene. You see, your Alan 
is such a frightfully conscientious policeman, isn’t he?” 

“I’m afraid he is. Oh, dear, I mean, I’m glad he is.” 

The Major smiled. 

“Look here, Miss Helene, do you trust me?” 

“Absolutely, Major.” 

“Then give me the amalgam. I’ll fix up everything.” 

With a hopeful smile she took a small but heavy package 
from her saddle bag and handed it to the Major. 

“What next?” she asked. 

“Why ride home and dream sweet dreams of—er—Alan.” 
* * * 

Squint poured himself out a generous measure of whisky and 
tossed it off in one big gulp. He meant it to be a night-cap, his 
last drink before turning in. But one drink led to another; to 
another and yet another. 

After all, he reasoned, a man had to have some pleasure in 
this cursed hole of a country called Africa. If Lanky were 
only a good sport he’d have some company and wouldn’t be 
forced to drink alone. But as it was! Well, he was just as 
well pleased, after all, that Lanky kept to his own quarters. 
He didn’t like him; never did, and never would. He was too 
sly, too oily. You can never trust a man like that. He, 
Squint, would watch Lanky carefully; he had to if he wanted 
his proper share in the earnings of the mine. 

Squint’s hand groped again for the bottle. He didn’t want 
another drink, really. But a fellow had to take a few drinks 
in order to ward off fever. Funny lot of things had been hap¬ 
pening. He bet that the Major was at the bottom of it all. 
His hand fondled his revolver. He was going to wear it to 
bed with him and- 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


59 

Suddenly his candle went out and the hut was plunged into 
an abysmal darkness, the darkness of a starless African night. 

Dreading to move, even to light a match, he roared loudly 
for a light. 

Across the way he heard Lanky’s high-pitched voice scream¬ 
ing a similar order. 

Strange rustlings sounded in the hut. There was a soft 
pattering of naked feet, and then a native appeared bearing a 
lighted candle. 

Its feeble rays seemed to flood the hut with light, so marked 
was the contrast to the darkness. Propped up against the 
whisky bottle on the table was a piece of paper. 

Squint picked it up cautiously. On it was printed in plain 
letters: 

Don’t trust Lanky too much. He knows who stole the gold. Ask 
him. And then look in his trunk. 

A Friend. 

Squint did not stop to consider the origin of the paper, but 
with an angry curse reeled out of the hut and stumbled through 
the darkness to the hut occupied by Lanky. 

A native, with a candle, preceded him into the hut. 

‘‘Hullo, Squint?” Lanky said in surprise. He had nothing 
in common with Squint and the two usually confined their in¬ 
tercourse to the affairs of the mine. 

‘Tve been thinking,” Squint said abruptly when the native 
had departed, “that you know more about that robbery than 
you say.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why, I think you know who stole the amalgam.” 

“Don’t be a damned fool. I know no more about it than 
you do.” But Lanky’s protest did not sound sincere to Squint’s 
ears, and without further words he made a sudden rush to 
Lanky’s chest, opened the lid and began to rummage among its 
contents. 

“Leave that stuff alone,” snapped Lanky. 

Squint turned on him with a snarl of rage and threw down 


6o 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


on the table before Lanky, a heavy package—the one which had 
been stolen from the messenger- 

“Yes. I’ll leave it alone, you rat. So you’d try to cheat 
me, would you?” 

“What are you talking about, Squint? I’m your partner.” 
Lanky’s face was white with fear. “I don’t know anything 
about this; it’s a put-up job. You ought to know that I won’t 
cheat.” 

“Won’t! You did. A pretty story that about the rob¬ 
bery, wasn’t it? You ought to be able to tell it well; you 
planned it.” 

“You’re a fool to talk like that, Squint.” 

“I’m a fool, am I ?” howled Squint. “I was a fool when I 
went into partnership with you. You’ll be trying to cheat me 
out of my share in the mine, same as you cheated old Paul. 
But you won’t fool me that way.” 

Lanky’s hand leaped to his revolver, but Squint was quicker. 
A report pierced the stillness of the night and Lanky pitched 
forward on his face to the ground. 

Before the last echoes of the shot had died away two police¬ 
men—Sergeant Blunt, and Trooper Wade—and the Major 
rushed into the hut. 

Squint made no attempt to resist them but voluntarily gave 
up his revolver and submitted to be handcuffed. He muttered 
continually, 

“He had it coming to him.” 

The men knelt down beside the body of Lanky and examined 
him closely. They whispered together for a few moments. 

“He’s dead,” said the sergeant. “Have you anything to say, 
Squint, about the mine? If you make a confession we’ll try to 
make it light for you.” 

Squint sobered quickly. 

“Yes. I’ll tell everything. It was all Lanky’s plan in the 
beginning. He-” 

With many invectives he told of how they got the old man 
Paul drunk and then tried to get him to put his signature to the 


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE 


61 


deed transferring his claim to them. The attempt had failed. 
Drunk though he was, Paul was too cunning, set too high a 
value on his claim, to be caught that way. Then Lanky had 
conceived the bold plan of tracing Paul’s signature on the deed 
from an old receipt he had in his pocket. 

The story was soon told. 

“Sign here,” said the sergeant, who had taken down the 
confession on a page torn from his note book. 

Squint eagerly obeyed. 

“You’ll say I killed him in self-defence, won’t you, Ser¬ 
geant ?” 

Blunt nodded and after he and Wade had witnessed Squint’s 
signature, the Major threw a bucketful of water into the face 
of the “dead” man. 

Gasping and spluttering Lanky weakly sat up and gazed 
vacantly about him. 

“He is only stunned, Squint, old dear,” said the Major with 
a grin. “Really, you’re a deuced bad shot.” 

Squint made no reply, but looked with despairing eyes at the 
piece of paper which the sergeant folded carefully and handed 
to Wade. 

“You take it to Helene, Major,” said the young trooper. 
“It’s all the result of your planning.” 

“Not for the world, old top. I must be off. Tomasi has 
a little hunting party arranged for me to-morrow, and I must 
get to bed. But I wish you’d fish my cigar case out of Squint’s 
hip pocket. Thanks. I’ve been quite miserable without it. 
Oh, by the way, Messrs. Squint and Lanky, may my servant, 
Jim, go?” 

Squint’s answer was a string of curses. Lanky only looked 
at the Major with wondering eyes. He did not yet know the 
meaning of it all. 

The door of the hut opened and the Major vanished into the 
blackness of the night. A few minutes later he came to the 
mine compound and there found the natives from Tomasi’s 
kraal grouped about his Cape cart. 


62 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“The game is finished,” he told them. “On the morrow you 
may return to the kraal.” 

“It is well, lord,” they answered softly. 

The Major climbed up into the Cape cart and was about 
to drive away when one of the men sprang forward. 

“And what of me, baas?” he asked in pleading tones. 

“As for you, Jim, a heavy punishment awaits you. Come 
up here and drive me to the kraal of Tomasi. On the way I 
will think of a suitable punishment for a drunkard and a thief!” 

“There has been evil enough,” muttered Jim as he climbed 
up into the driver’s seat. 

The Major did not answer him; he had gone to the rear 
of the cart and was examining by the light of a hurricane lamp 
his cigar case. He opened it and a few minutes later, was 
examining some diamonds which he had taken from the false 
bottom of the case. 

Leaning back, still holding the diamonds in his hands, he 
chuckled softly and Jim, hearing him, sent his mules on at a 
faster rate through the darkness. He felt assured that his 
punishment would be light indeed. 


CHAPTER IV 


A MATTER OF RANGE 

T HE steep sides of the boulder-strewn kopje swarmed 
with the people of Thuso’s kraal—men, women and 
children. At the base of the kopje stood Thuso, sur¬ 
rounded by his councillors. 

Among the latter was a man dressed in the regalia of a 
witch doctor—the living symbol of South Africa’s darkness. 
On his head the horns of an ox, fantastically curved, were fast¬ 
ened; a leopard skin hung from his shoulders; charms of 
snakes’ fangs and human teeth were strung on a cord about his 
neck and his face and body were 
daubed with ash-paint. Here and 
there his skin showed through the 
gray daub of ashes, and it gleamed 
white. 

His wide-spaced eyes were blue, 
cold blue, always shifting; his 
nose was arched, aquiline; his lips 
were thin and firmly compressed. 

In his hands he held a rifle. 

“All is ready, white man,” 

Thuso said. “Make good your boast, or-” He paused 

significantly. 

The white man spat in contempt. “I shall not fail, Chief.” 
He barely opened his lips when he spoke, and the words 
seemed to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. “Two hun¬ 
dred spear lengths from us,” he continued, “the fastest riding- 
bull of your herd is tethered so that he cannot move to the 

63 



64 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

right or to the left, forward or back. Your young men saw 
to that.” 

Thuso made a gesture of impatience, but the white man 
proceeded deliberately. 

“Two hundred spear lengths beyond the bull, and in a line 
with us and it, bound to a stake, is Marka—the man who 
would set himself up against me, the man who says my counsel 
is evil, my magic a thing to be mocked. 

“We shall see. I have cast my magic upon the bull. Noth¬ 
ing can harm it. The death that is in this”—he patted the 
rifle with a long, claw-like hand—“shall pass through it, 
harming it not. But upon Marka I have cast no charm. So 
watch!” 

The chief raised his assegai; indunnas (sub-chiefs) shouted 
angry commands and the black swarm upon the kopje ceased 
its noisy clamour. All was still. It seemed as if the vast 
horde had suddenly stopped breathing. Not a thing moved; 
there was no fitful breeze to stir the wan grass of the veld. 

The white man stepped a few paces forward, stopped against 
a curiously shaped rock, examined the sights of his weapon, ad¬ 
justed the sling, slipped a cartridge into the breech and then 
slowly brought the rifle up to his shoulder. 

And now the eyes of the watchers turned from him to the 
tethered bull two hundred yards away; beyond that to the 
black dot, which was Marka, on the level, sand-coloured plain. 

Then, when it seemed that the limit of human patience had 
been reached, the vast silence was broken by a vicious crack and 
a coil of blue smoke floated lazily from the muzzle of the 
rifle. 

The first awed exclamation, “Au-a!” was followed by a 
babel of sounds. 

“See!” exclaimed one of the chiefs, “The bull lives. He 
lashes at the flies with his tail. The white man’s magic has 
passed through him, harming him not.” 

“Aye. The bull lives,” said another. “But is Marka 
dead?” 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


65 

The white man took a powerful spyglass from the case 
which he had worn concealed under the leopard skin, and 
focussing it on the distant spot, gazed through it long and 
earnestly. 

At length a sneering smile of satisfaction crossed his face. 
Turning to the chief he said, “My magic was greater than 
Marka’s. You will not forget your promise?” 

“What I have said, I have said,” replied Thuso with the 
pompous dignity of a petty autocrat. “But I am not yet sure 
that Marka is dead.” 

“Tchat! There is no need to doubt. See!” The white 
man pointed to two tiny specks—almost invisible in the deep 
blue of the sky. As the chief watched, the two were joined by 
two others and all four dropped, stone-like, to the veld, 
i “Vultures come to the kill,” continued the white man. 
“But if you still doubt, send a warrior out there that he may 
bring you word of what he sees.” 

“It is well thought of,” muttered Thuso, and so ordered 
one of his young men. “If Marka is indeed dead,” he said to 
the warrior, “hold your shield high above your head.” 

From mouth to mouth the chief’s order spread and again the 
people were silent, waiting for the signal that would tell them 
which magic was the greater—Marka’s or the white man’s. 

The white man sat down on a nearby boulder, his back to 
the speeding messenger, his attitude one of contemptuous in¬ 
difference. At last a mighty shout went up from the watchers. 
The messenger had reached his goal and he was waving his 
shield above his head. 

“Your magic is indeed great, white man,” said Thuso in 
awed tones. “The death that is in your fire-stick has passed 
through the bull, harming it not. But Marka is dead. Au-a!” 

The white man rose to his feet. 

“Then let us go to the Council Place. There is much I 
would say to your people. I have spoken.” 

He turned and led the way to the kraal which nestled at the 
foot of the kopje, but on the other side from where they were 


66 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

now standing. As he walked he covertly wiped the sweat from 
his face—for he had been under a severe mental strain—and 
muttered in English, “It was a hard shot, the hardest I’ve 
ever made. But I knew I couldn’t miss.” 

That night there was much beer drinking and merriment at 
the kraal of Thuso. But some few men there were who sat 
apart and refused the beer pots when offered them. These, 
Marka’s sons, were noted by the white man and, when one of 
them, thinking to take advantage of the darkness and the 
drunkenness of the warriors, left the kraal, he was followed by 
four men into whose ears the white man had whispered evil 
commands. 

* * * 

It was just a matter of pure luck that the officials of the 
Anton Diamond Mine discovered that the man who had staked 
a claim close to their holding and had commenced mining op¬ 
erations, was a famous Illicit Diamond Buyer. That in itself 
would have made them suspicious and uncomfortable—it 
savoured too much of their own first mining venture. When 
a further trick of fate put into their hands the definite knowl¬ 
edge that the I. D. B. was buying stones smuggled out of 
their diggings by native labourers, and burying the stones on 
his claim with the intention of later “finding” them and reg¬ 
istering them as by law ordained, why then the Anton officials 
were greatly incensed. The fact that they owed their present 
wealth to earlier illegalities of a like nature did not mitigate 
their wrath—added to it, rather. 

They at once lodged complaints with the police authorities 
and, because the Anton officials were powerful politically, the 
police lost no time in getting into action. 

But, proving that Lady Luck sometimes plays fair, the 
I. D. B. discovered—was warned, rather, by an anonymous 
note—that an elaborate plan was afoot which would surely 
be the means of sending him to the Breakwater at Cape Town 
for the rest of his natural life. So he stood not on the order 
of his going, but under cover of darkness fled in great haste. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


67 

He left the diamonds behind him. Albeit he did set off several 
sticks of dynamite which caused his diggings to cave in and 
thus make the re-discovery of the pilfered stones that much 
harder. 

The anonymous note had also asked him to call at a cer¬ 
tain house on the outskirts of the town before he left and, 
although the need for haste was great, he was curious enough 
to obey the request. 

He entered the house, revolver in hand, leaving his native 
servant outside in charge of the horses, and was greeted by 
Colonel Hammond of the police. 

“I told you I would need you some day, Major,” that man 
said, “but I didn’t think it would be so soon.” 

The Major put up his revolver with a shrug of his shoulders. 
“Of course I could shoot you,” he drawled, “and make a safe 
getaway, but, somehow, I don’t fancy murder—it’s so bloom¬ 
ing messy. I suppose you’ve got the house surrounded, any¬ 
way. ’Pon my word, chief, I didn’t think you’d be guilty of 
a bally caddish trick like this.” 

Hammond flushed. “Don’t be so hasty, Major. Hear what 
I have to say. You haven’t much time; they’ll be on your 
trail pretty soon. Sit down.” 

Wonderingly, the Major obeyed, stretching his long frame 
in the wicker chair. 

“You were right,” continued Hammond. “Whispering 
Smith is a stronger man than I thought. Brimmer is still on 
the force and all my attempts to reorganize have so far met 
with failure. Man, it’s unbelievable what power Smith has! 
He’s got the whole country in his grip, and if the police are to 
amount to anything, if the country is to be the place we want 
it to be, Smith must be scotched.” 

“Splendid,” murmured the Major, clapping his hands softly. 
“You’d make a first-class member of parliament, old dear. 
You’re wasted out here.” 

“This is no time for rotting, Major,” Hammond said curtly. 

The Major sat up penitently. “I’m sorry, old horse. Fire 


68 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

ahead. So Smithy has to be scotched, eh? I heartily agree. 
Well!” 

“Well—I want you to help me!” 

The Major laughed scornfully. 

“You chappies have the deuce an’ all of a nerve. Here 
you’ve been chivying me all over the bloomin’ country and 
then, when you get up against a chap with brains—like the 
Smith man—you want me to help you. And I will? Oh, 
I don’t think!” 

“Forget your personal grievance, Major. Or at least re¬ 
member that I warned you of the little plan of the Anton 
people. If I hadn’t—you’d be in a hell of a mess. So, you 
see, you are in a sense obligated to me, and I believe you have 
the reputation of paying your debts!” 

The Major bowed. “Well?” 

“Major,” Hammond said earnestly, “you know what the 
Big Man’s dream is?” 

“The ‘Big Man’? You mean-?” 

“No names,” Hammond interposed quickly. 

“Yes; I know his dream,” the Major said quietly, “and it’s 
a big one, a wonderful one. Bah Jove, it’s more than that. 
It’s absolutely priceless.” 

“Then you’d like to have a hand in the making of that 
dream come true?” 

“Idle talk, dear fellow, idle talk. It can’t be.” The 
Major’s voice was bitter. “I’ve chucked away my chances— 
all for personal revenge. I’ve been playin’ merry hob with the 
Big Man’s diamond game and he’ll never forget or forgive me 
for that.” Then he added with a chuckle, “But I’ve had the 
deuce an’ all of a good time.” 

“He told me to ask you to help us!” 

“He did—but how?” The Major was all enthusiasm. 

“Perhaps you know that he has a large number of men and 
women, scattered throughout the Colony and adjacent terri¬ 
tories, working as a sort of free-lance secret service agents.” 

“I’d rather imagined that.” 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


69 

“Then listen: We have received word from a Miss Peters 
-—she’s a very clever girl—that a white man is stirring up 
trouble at Thuso’s kraal on the Portuguese border.” 

“What sort of trouble? Arming the natives and that sort 
of thing?” 

The chief nodded. “We want you to go up there and in¬ 
vestigate.” 

“My word, rather a tall order—what? Why don’t you 
send a detachment of police?” 

“And what would the Portuguese authorities do if we did ?” 

“Ah, I see. But what’s this chappy after ?” 

“We don’t know. He may be inciting the natives to revolt 
so that the Portuguese can claim a protectorate over a neutral 

piece of territory or- Frankly, we don’t know what to 

think. Will you go, Major?” 

“Oh, absolutely. It’ll be great sport.” 

“Fine!” Hammond sighed with relief. “But you under¬ 
stand, Major, I can’t give you any protection; on the other 
hand I’m not asking you to reform or anything like that.” 

“That’s all right, old chap. I’m off now. But one other 
thing. Do I have to play the silly goat with this—er—Miss 
Peters; take her by the hand—so as to speak—and lead her out 
of danger?” 

“I don’t think she’d let you take her by the hand,” the chief 
said dryly. “She’s quite capable of taking care of herself, 
you’ll find. She’s living with her father and mother just now, 
near Thuso’s kraal. But sometimes she does a little cam¬ 
paigning on her own account.” 

“B-r-r! One of those men-women! However, toodle-oo.” 

“There’s one other thing, Major,” Hammond said as the 
Major started for the door. “We suspect that Whispering 
Smith’s at the bottom of this affair and—this will interest you 
—I do know that it was Smith who was responsible for the 
original frame-up which sent you to prison for two years. You 
prevented his beating up a native or something like that.” 

The Major gave a whistle. “So that was Smithy, too. Well, 


7 o THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

thanks, old chap, that was all that was necessary to complete 
my enjoyment. How long do you think it will be before the 
police chappies get on my trail for this Anton affair ?” 

“They won’t be able to pick up your trail to-night, Major* 
Say about eight hours.” 

“That’ll be plenty. Good night, chief.” 

“Good night, Major, and thanks-” 

But the slamming of the door cut short his sentence, and the 
next moment the patter of galloping horses came to his ears. 

* * * 

About the same time that the four troopers, working on the 
Anton case, lost the spoor of their quarry and were ready to 
admit defeat, the Major and his servant were camped by a 
small spruit nearly a hundred miles to the north of them. 
Each was chewing meditatively on a piece of biltong, washing 
down the salty stuff with muddy coffee. 

“If the baas had shot the buck this morning,” said Jim pres¬ 
ently, “we would be eating now instead of fattening our thirst.” 

The Major smiled. 

“And I’m tired, baas. We go no further to-day?” 

“Nay. In a little while the sun will have set. To-morrow 
we will go on at our own pace seeking the kraal of the Chief 
Thuso. Perhaps there we shall-” 

But Jim did not hear. He had turned over on his side and 
was snoring lustily. 

The white man rose to his feet and, catching the two 
horses which had been turned loose to graze, tethered them to 
a nearby tree. That done he returned to the fire and, sitting 
down on a large boulder, prepared to keep watch through the 
night. He did not know how far he had outdistanced his 
pursuers. 

It was typical of the man that despite the hard riding of 
the past five days he still presented an immaculate appearance. 
His white drill riding-breeches and his khaki tunic were 
slightly dust stained, it is true, but his face was clean-shaven, 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


7 i 


his monocle glittered dazzlingly in his eye, and his brown 
riding-boots were highly polished. His hair, jet-black save 
for graying patches over the temples, looked as if he had just 
risen from a barber’s chair, and certainly not as if he were on 
the African veld—and in a very precarious position. But that 
was always the Major’s way. In addition to a normal man’s 
desire for cleanliness he had so long acted a pose that it is 
doubtful if he would have considered himself entirely dressed 
without his monocle. But those who knew him well knew 
that the affected drawl, the air of helplessness, the pose of in¬ 
nocence and the inane, vacuous expression on his face,, merely 
masked an extraordinarily keen brain. 

“I’m in a deuce of a mess,” he muttered, “and I’ve half a 
mind to chuck this business of the Big Man’s—but no; I can’t 
and I don’t want to. Funny mess! Chased by the police and 
yet I’m doin’ the work of the police. And I’m stony broke— 
had to leave all my equipment behind. Bally nuisance that! 
Well, we’ll see what the mornin’ brings.” 

He put an armful of wood on the fire; the sun had set and 
already the night air was growing chill. The bush veld began 
to echo with the cries of the night creatures. The horses 
neighed in fear and lashed at some fancied, or real, danger. 
The Major whistled softly. The low notes calmed their 
fears and they playfully nibbled each other. 

There were heavy crashings in the thick undergrowth; a 
cock ostrich boomed; the ground reverberated to the roar of a 
distant lion; a grass snake slithered over Jim’s leg and coiled 
itself up close to the fire; a bell-bird tonked dismally. 

There followed a period of silence. 

And then Jim’s eyes opened. 

From the deep sleep of exhaustion he became instantly wide 
awake, every faculty alert. There was no intermediate stage, 
no yawning or stretching, no rubbing of eyes or collecting of 
wits. Neither did he move, but waited, eyes fixed on the 
Major, concentrating, sending out a silent call for his master’s 
attention. 


72 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


A few minutes passed. 

“What is it Jim?” the Major suddenly asked softly. Yet: 
he had not looked up. He was apparently absorbed in pol¬ 
ishing his monocle. 

“Someone comes, baas.” 

“A friend, Jim?” 

“Who knows, baas? But would a friend come crawling on 
hands and knees?” 

A stealthy rustling sound came from the bush just without 
the range of firelight, followed by a groan as of a man in pain. 

The Major jumped to his feet and started in the direction 
of the noise. 

“No! Don’t go, baas,” cried Jim and he, too, rose to his 
feet. “Or if you must,” he continued, “I go too.” 

He snatched a blazing brand from the fire and, holding it 
before him, followed his baas. Soon they came upon the form 
of a man lying supine and unconscious. Picking him up they 
carried him to the fire, and by its fitful light examined him 
carefully. 

He was a native of a powerful build and wore the head-ring 
of a man of affairs, but his tribal marks were strange to Jim. 
In the lobes of his ears he wore a brass cartridge-case. Blood 
had clotted about a wound in his scalp—made by a glancing 
blow with a knobkerrie, the Major judged—and the fleshy part 
of both thighs had been pierced by an assegai. His whole 
body seemed to be one big bruise. 

“Better that we take him back where we found him, baas,” 
Jim muttered. “Undoubtedly this man has offended a power¬ 
ful witch doctor, and this is his punishment. If we aid him, 
we too will be punished.” 

“And is that your true counsel? To let him die?” 

Jim smiled shame-facedly. “That would be the wise thing 
to do, baas, but we are fools. See if you can make him 
swallow some coffee, baas, and I will make a strong medicine 
that will heal his wounds.” 

Jim took from his saddle wallet a bag containing dried herbs. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


73 


Some of these he put in the cook pot and covered them with 
water. He put the pot on the fire, and, squatting near by, 
muttered charms and supplications to the Great Spirits to 
look favourably upon his medicine making. 

Soon the water began to boil and strong, pungent odours 
came from the pot. 

“He can’t drink the coffee, Jim. He’s too far gone.” 

“No matter, baas. My magic is ready.” 

Jim took the pot from the fire. It contained now a thick, 
sticky and evil-smelling ointment which, after it had cooled a 
little, he rubbed into the body of the wounded man. He 
smeared still more all over him and allowed it to dry. 

“He will be better in the morning, baas. Warriors are not 
women to die for so little. Look you; the wounds are of no 
moment. It is only that he is tired in spirit as well as of 
body. Even now my magic is beginning to work. See! He 
sleeps as a man should.” 

“It is true, Jim,” the Major said in wondering tones. “I 
have seen you work many wonders, but none equal to this.” 

Then he added in English, “Not all the wisdom of the 
medical schools could improve on this. ‘Out of the mouth of 
babes,’ and all that. You are a babe, Jim, you know, and full 
of wisdom, you old sinner.” 

“Damme, yes,” chuckled Jim, who spoke English like a 
sailor’s parrot. “Me a bloody babe—damme, yes.” 

* *• *■ 

The Major and Jim were about early next morning. The 
Major was roasting two guinea fowls which he had knocked 
down with a stick and Jim was busily grooming the horses. 
The stranger w^as still asleep and, judging by the loudness of 
his snores, had recuperated a great deal from his weakness of 
the night. 

Just at the moment that the coffee boiled over and the 
Major announced to Jim that the fowls were ready for the 
eating, the sleeper awoke with a yell. Jim and his baas hur- 


74 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

ried over to him and, noting the fear in the man’s eyes, 
quickly assured him that he was with friends. 

Partly reassured, the native attempted to rise to his feet, 
but they restrained him. “First eat and drink,” commanded 
the Major, “then you shall tell the story.” 

With a gesture of resignation the man assented and greedily 
tore the flesh off the bones of the fowl Jim brought to him. 

“Two days have passed since I last ate,” he said when, the 
bones picked clean, he flung the carcass into the bush behind 
him. 

“So? Then let the tale of your hunger be told.” 

“I am of the tribe of Thuso.” The Major started slightly. 
“Matiswa, my name; Marka, the greatest of all witch doctors, 
my father.” 

“To the meat of the story,” growled Jim. “You said there 
was need of great haste.” 

“It is necessary that you know all things from the begin¬ 
ning,” Matiswa retorted chidingly. “Because of the wise 
counsel of Marka, Thuso was enabled to rule us long, ac¬ 
knowledging no overlord. We have always been a people set 
apart, a law unto ourselves. Because we in no way inter¬ 
fered with the whites, and because we had nothing they counted 
precious, they have up to this time suffered us to go our own 
way. Now pay heed to the evil that has come to us. A 
certain white man came to live among us. A trader he said 
he was, and he gained the friendship of Thuso, our chief. 
Au-a! Woe is me!” 

“You are long-winded,” Jim exclaimed irritably. “The 
day grows old.” 

“Not in a breath can the shame of a race be told, black one. 
This white man said that he would lead our warriors against 
the whites. ‘Nothing shall harm your warriors,’ he said, ‘for 
I have a charm to turn aside the bullets of the white men! not 
even the gun of many voices will be able to hurt you!’ 

“Then Marka urged the chief that the white man’s magic 
be put to the test. So on the morrow, in the sight of all the 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


75 


people, the white man sent the voice which kills, through the 
body of a bull, harming it not, and killed my father, who was 
on the far side of the bull and a great distance beyond it. A 
great wonder making, and my people doubted no longer.” 

“Clever Johnny, that,” murmured the Major in English. 
“Worked off a simple matter of trajectory as a great magic. 
I must make his acquaintance.” 

Matiswa looked inquiringly at the Hottentot. 

“My baas makes a charm,” Jim explained. “He is in all 
things wonderful and I—I am his servant. Continue.” 

“That night a great feast was held at the kraal, and the 
white man promised that in four days he would lead us against 
the Dutchman, Peters, that we might see how strong his charm 
was. Now this Peters lives just beyond our borders and he has 
at all times been a good friend to us—he and his women-folk. 
So I endeavoured to get to them that I might warn them. But 
warriors sent by the evil white man intercepted me. They 
beat me and left me for dead. When light came to me again 
I knew that it would be folly to attempt to reach the Dutch¬ 
man, for his house would be watched. And so I came this 
way, praying that the spirits would bring me deliverance.” 

“The spirits have not failed you,” said the Major. “Now 
tell me the things I ask you, and tell me in few words. How 
many spears follow the lead of Thuso?” 

“Five hundred—no more.” 

“How far to his kraal?” 

“For you, on horseback, a forenoon’s trek.” 

“And the place of Peters? Where is that?” 

“A forenoon’s trek beyond the kraal of Thuso. And there is 
no way to it save past the kraal.” 

“And think you that Peters knows nothing of the evil that 
is afoot?” 

“Nay! Since the coming of the trader he has been at 
enmity with Thuso.” 

“What is your purpose, baas?” Jim asked uneasily. “Do 
two of us go against five hundred?” 


76 


THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 


The Major did not answer. He was busy writing a mes¬ 
sage on a page torn from his notebook. When it was finished 
he asked Matiswa, “Can you ride?” 

“Aye, white man.” 

“Then take the black horse and ride toward the south. It 
may be that by noon to-morrow you will see four Nonquai. 
Give them this talking charm. That is all. Now go.” 

Matiswa rose to his feet, strengthened by the food and embued 
with a new confidence and, mounting the black stallion which 
Jim had hastily saddled, was soon lost to sight in the bush. 

“And now, Jim,” said the Major, “we, too, will trek.” 

“But where, baas?” the Hottentot asked mournfully. 

“To the kraal of Thuso. Where else?” 

“Au-a! If we go there we die.” 

“If we stay here the Nonquai , the mounted police, will come 
and, taking us, will send us to the labour on the Breakwater. 
If we stay here the people of Thuso will go out against the 
white men and there will be much killing of men, women, and 
children.” 

“And it is in your mind, baas, that we two can stop them?” 

“Some thought I had of that.” 

“The baas is all-powerful,” Jim retorted sarcastically. “He 
holds up his hand and dams a mighty river.” 

The Major rose to his feet. 

But Jim was still argumentative. “It is all folly, baas. 
Suppose the people of Thuso go out against the white men, be¬ 
lieving that they have a charm that will turn bullets. What 
then? It will soon be brought home to them that their charm 
is a thing of no account. The end will soon come, and no 
harm will have been done. Why must we die because five 
hundred warriors are fools?” 

“Yes. Those five hundred warriors are fools, and some of 
them will be killed, and they will kill white men—but they 
are led by an evil white man. The fault is not theirs. And 
true it is, also, that in but a little while they will be defeated 
and their villages will be burned as a warning to others. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


77 

“But what is this?” The Major indicated a cartridge which 
hung suspended from the lobe of Jim’s right ear. 

Jim grinned. “The man Matiswa had empty ones in his 
ears, baas, and it came to me that it was a charm to strengthen 
the heart of man. And so I took a cartridge from your belt 
and—the baas will pardon?” 

“Aye,” the Major replied absently. “For truly the man 
Matiswa was brave. Beaten, bruised, he forgot his hurt, hop¬ 
ing only to prevent his people from committing folly. But 
what use for further words? You know the thing he in¬ 
tended to do, and if we fail him perchance he will succeed else¬ 
where. Yes, keep the cartridge, Jim. You have need of a 
charm to bolster up your woman heart.” 

The Major mounted and rode slowly away. But Jim ran 
after him, crying for him to stop. 

He reined in his horse and waited for the Hottentot to 
catch up with him. “Well, Jim?” 

“The baas did not understand. It is not that I fear death— 
that comes to us all—but the thought of walking to my death 
was distasteful. That was all, baas.” 

The Major started to dismount. 

Again Jim checked him. “No! Not that either, baas. Let 
me take hold of a stirrup and all will be well. I can run, yes, 
but I will not walk.” 

The Major’s chuckle was one of relief, and he slipped his 
foot out of the stirrup. 

“After a while,” he said, “you shall ride and I will run. Now 
we must waste no more time.” 

He pricked the horse with his spur and set off at a hand- 
gallop and Jim, with effortless, machine-like stride, ran at his 
side. 

It was nearly sundown when they reached Thuso’s kraal. 
All three—the Major, Jim, and the horse—were tuckered out. 
Having missed the trail, they had travelled much farther than 
the forenoon’s trek of Matiswa’s estimation. 

At the gate in the stockade encircling the kraal they were 


78 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

taken in charge by a party of warriors and led to a large hut 
built close to a tin shack which was evidently the store. There, 
after helping themselves to the Major’s rifle, revolver, and 
cartridges the warriors left them. 

“This is funny,” the Major exclaimed. “Wonder why 
they’ve gone away and left us all to ourselves. Oh, I see. 
This must be a white man’s place and it’s probably bad form 
to hang around uninvited.” 

Then to Jim, in the vile kitchen Kaffir which newcomers 
use and think they are speaking the vernacular, he added, 
“Mena’s going inside lo ivinkel. Wena slala here. See?” 

Jim responded with a string of lurid curses and invectives. 
“White men are all fools,” he concluded, “and I’m a fool, too, 
to serve a man of this sort.” 

“What’s that you say, dog?” 

Jim turned with a start to face a lean, hungry-looking white 
man who had come up behind him, and the Major hurried to 
greet the speaker. 

“I say, old top, I’m deuced glad to see you—” he began. 

The other ignored him half contemptuously. “Well, dog?” 
he said to Jim, and the sjambok in his hand twitched sug¬ 
gestively. 

“Your pardon, baas,” Jim said humbly, cringingly. “I did 
not know a white man—other than the one I serve—was in 
this place. And truly, he is a fool, and a child of fools.” 

The white man smiled, not a pleasant smile, and turned to 
the Major. 

“Your servant is cheeky. He needs a whipping. Shall 
I-?” 

“Oh, no! Please don’t. He’s not half bad, really.” 

The other leered. “You’re too damned soft,” he said, then 
throwing back his head, began to laugh. 

“Why, what is it?” the Major exclaimed wonderingly. “The 
sun, perhaps.” 

“No. It’s not that. I was just thinking that back in Eng¬ 
land I’d be touching my hat to men like you. But here, I’m 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


79 

the top man. You, and the likes of you, you ain’t nothing. 
Even your nigger laughs at you.” 

“Sit down, you!” he growled to Jim in the vernacular. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you, old top,” the Major 
said in grieved tones. “I think you’re very rude to treat a 
traveller like this. I’m most deucedly hungry.” 

“You are? Well, come in and have skoff. It’s all ready. 
Been ready for the last half hour waitin’ for you.” 

“Waitin’ for me? But how?” 

“Of course. I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? Saw you coming 
over the veld.” 

He led the way inside the hut and motioned the Major to 
sit down on one of the chairs drawn up to a cheap deal table. 
He clapped his hands and a native entered and set two plates 
heaped with food on the table. 

“My name’s Aubrey St. John,” began the Major. 

“Eat,” growled the other. “We’ll talk afterward.” 

“But how about my servant—he must be hungry. You’ll 
pardon the importunity I hope?” 

“He’s been taken care of already. My boy’s looking out 
for him.” 

“That’s the best chicken,” the Major said after a while, 
“I’ve ever eaten. And now, Mr.-—er-” 

“Dowson’s my name, Aubrey. Just plain Bill Dowson.” 

“Well, Mr. Dowson, if you had a cigarette I’d be quite 
happy.” 

“Yes, you would. Haven’t any. Sell you a chunk of chew¬ 
ing tobacco, though.” 

The Major held up his hands in horror. 

“Just who are you,” Dowson continued, “and what are you 
doing here?” 

“I’ve already told you my name, old top. Just out from 
England on a little huntin’ trip. Wanted to do it the right 
way, you know. Any one can kill lions and elephants, if they 
have lots of native gentlemen as beaters, camp followers and 
what not. But it takes quite a huntsman to go out accompan- 


8o 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


ied by only one native trekker—is that what you call ’em? 
Well, alas and dear me, my guide doesn’t seem to be quite up 
to snuff. Yesterday he lost my wagon and mules as we were 
crossing a river; the current was too strong and washed them 
away. Yet I’m sure I crossed exactly where he told me to, 
though he did get me quite rattled when I was about half-way 
across by shoutin’ something at me in his heathenish language. 
I may have driven a little bit off the course. We spent until 
nearly dark trying to fish out some of our provisions, but it 
was no use. So supperless to bed. Then this mornin’ he sets 
out to guide me to a kraal near by, as well as I could under¬ 
stand him, where there was a store and I could buy provisions. 
After ridin’ all day, we get here.” 

Dowson nodded. “I suppose you’re tired,” he said. 

“Bah Jove, yes. You won’t have to sing me a lullaby.” 

“All right. You can go to bed right away. Sleep on the 
skins in the corner there. It’s the best I can offer you. I’ll 
take you to a better place in the morning. Good night 1 ” 

“Good night, old chap. But, I say, my—” 

“Well?” 

“The natives took my rifle and revolver and cartridges. Why 
did they do that? They’ll let me have them back, won’t they?” 

“Yes, of course. I’ll give them to you in the morning. 
It’s against their law for white men to carry guns about the 
kraal.” 

“Ah! I see. I’m quite safe here, do you think?” 

“Yes. Good night!” 

“There’s just one other thing. Will you send my servant 
in to me? He helps me undress, you know. He’s a perfectly 
priceless valet.” 

Dowson sneered. “I’ll send him in to you.” 

Jim was seated outside the hut. An empty beer pot was 
on the ground beside him. 

“How did you know there was a store at this kraal ?” Dow¬ 
son asked him suddenly. 

“I didn’t, baas. I told the fool who pays me there was a. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


81 


store here, yes. But that was in order to hearten him. After 
he had lost the mules and wagon in the river and was forced 
to sleep on an empty belly, he wept tears like a woman. In the 
morning I climbed a nearby kopje and saw the smoke of the 
cook-fires of this kraal. So I brought him hither. There were 
no other kraals near.” 

“But you have been all day trekking?” 

“Au-a! That was the fault of that fool. We crossed over 
the spoor of an elephant. It was an old spoor—older than last 
month’s moon—but the fool must follow it, his gun at the 
ready. Nothing I could say would turn him from his pur¬ 
pose. Thus we lost much time.” 

“How did he lose the wagon and mules? What manner of 
trekker are you?” 

“The fault was not mine, baas. I said, ‘Do not cross over 
the river, the flood is too high.’ But he paid no heed to 
me—perhaps he did not understand. When I sought to pull 
up the mules intending to make camp, he brushed me on one 
side and, climbing into the wagon, drove down the steep bank 
into the river.” 

Dowson chuckled. “You speak a true thing,” he said. 
“Your baas is a fool. Go to him now. He has need of you.” 
And with that he passed on. 

Jim waited until the storekeeper had passed out of sight, 
then he entered the hut. 

“How goes the game, baas?” he asked softly. 

“I’m in a maze, Jim. I do not understand. I do not know 
how to set down my feet; I am fearful of breaking something.” 

“In such case,” Jim said, “it is well to jump hard with both 
feet at once.” 

“What do you make of the storekeeper, Jim?” 

“He is a man of deep cunning, baas. I fear him. He says 
little, but he knows much. A spear is silent, but it bites deep. 
He asked me many questions, trying to trap me. I do not 
think he altogether believes the story we tell.” 

“It would be strange if he did. It is a queer story. Yet, 


82 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

for that same reason, I think he will believe. And if he does 
not, what matter? He will not have us killed, I think, be¬ 
fore the affair with Peters, the Dutchman.” 

“One thing I have learned, baas. All the people of this kraal 
fear him. They obey him because he has a mighty charm.” 

“If I can get a chance to speak to Thuso, the chief, in the 
morning, I can make this charm of his a thing of no account.” 

“I do not think they will let you see the chief, baas.” 

“No?” 

“No, baas. You may be all the things you say you are. 
But the storekeeper is not sure, and he is very wise. He will 
take no chances. He may think there are no crocodiles in the 
river, but he will not bathe until he is sure there are no 
crocodiles.” 

“If I had not given up my rifle, I would feel happier.” 

“If you had not given it up, baas, we both now would be 
dead. The spears of the warriors are very sharp.” 

The Major sighed. “That is very true. But did you have 
plenty of food, Jim?” 

“Aye, baas. And beer to drink! But I think they meant 
that to unloosen my tongue, baas, so I poured the beer on the 
ground. You will remember that to my credit? It was good 
beer and I was very thirsty.” 

“Yes. I shall remember, Jim. And now to sleep. I will 
keep watch.” 

The hours passed slowly, and in silence. 

Once the Major, coming to a sudden conclusion, or rather 
suddenly determined to put a long-considered plan into action, 
went to the door of the hut intending to make a survey of the 
kraal. But four warriors, armed with spears, barred his way. 

“It would seem,” he muttered as he returned to his chair and 
resumed his watch, “that I have put my head into a hornet’s 
nest. We are just two more sheep for the slaughter. But I 
wonder what Dowson’s game is? He’s not exactly antagon¬ 
istic ; a little surly, yes, but that’s nothing against a man. And 
if he’s planning to wipe out the Dutchman and lead these 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


83 

people against the whites, why does he take the trouble to be 
even half-way decent to me? Well, the morning will settle 
everything. I think I’m going to sleep now. Dear me, yes. 
It’s nearly morning and it ’ud never do for Dowson to find me 
keeping watch. For the matter of that, there is no sense in 
waking Jim. The poor chap is deucedly tired.” 

But although the Major lay down on the heap of skins in 
the corner of the hut, he did not go to sleep. His brain was 
too active planning a speech which he hoped to make to Thuso 
and his warriors in the morning. 

At last he had the points he would make all clearly arranged, 
and was well satisfied that the things he would say would suc¬ 
ceed, at least, in making Thuso and his people hesitate before 
committing any definite act of aggression. And this feeling 
of satisfaction was no expression of conceit. He knew that he 
understood the psychology of Africa’s black children better 
than most white men; he knew them as well as they knew them¬ 
selves; almost as well as the witch doctors knew them. And 
he spoke many dialects as if he had been born to the tribes. 

But this feeling of satisfaction was tempered by one of doubt. 
Suppose Dowson refused to give him the opportunity of speak¬ 
ing to the chief ? 

And with that thought came morning—and the storekeeper. 

“Sleep well?” asked Dowson. 

The Major sat up with a yawn, and stretched his arms 
wearily above his head. 

“Famously. I’ll have my bath and then I’ll be ready for 
breakfast. Where’s that lazy servant of mine? Ah! There 
he is. Snoring still, is he? Wake him up for me, there’s a 
good fellow.” 

Dowson applied his boot to Jim’s ribs, and not very gently. 

Jim awoke with a yell and a curse. Then, rubbing his eyes 
and seeing Dowson standing over him, he muttered confused 
apologies. 

“Get out of here, you,” Dowson ordered with a snarl, and 
Jim made a precipitous exit. 


84 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“I don’t understand you,” Dowson continued, turning to the 
Major. 

“No?” 

“No. You seem to be a damned fool, but I don’t know.” 

“Oh, but I’m not a fool, really. I’m most deucedly clever, 
’pon my soul. But let’s have breakfast, old man, then fit me 
out with mules, a Cape cart, provisions and all the rest.” 

“You have money for all this?” 

“Oh, no; I make a practise of never carrying a lot of money 
around with me. Just enough to keep me goin’ from day to 
day as it were. I keep all my funds in the bank at Kimberley.” 

“And you expect me to fit you out?” 

“Why not? You don’t doubt my word, do you? But of 
course you do. You don’t know me from Eve’s better half, do 
you? Well, won’t my note do?’ 

“No, it won’t.” 

“Then what am I to do?” The Major made a helpless 
gesture. 

“You can send your nigger to Kimberley with a note.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’d be quite lost without him. 
Haven’t you a runner—I think that’s what you call ’em—you 
can send for me?” 

, “Yes,” Dowson answered slowly. “But what are you going 
to do until you get an answer?” 

“Be your honoured guest, dear sir.” 

“You have a damned nerve,” Dowson exclaimed with heat. 
“I’m doing a lot when I say I’ll send one of my boys with a 
message. I’m damned if I’ll feed you until he returns on the 
chance that you have the money. I’ve been had that way 
before.” 

“But surely you’re not goin’ to turn me out to starve?” the 
Major exclaimed in dismay. 

“No, I won’t do that. White men have to stick together. 
I’ll take you to Dutch Peters’s place. He’ll put you up. He’s 
a soft-hearted fool, is Peters.” 

' ' “That’ll be bully. When do we go?” 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


85 


“Now.” 

“After breakfast, you mean.” 

“I’ve had my breakfast.” 

“Then I’m going with my servant, Jim, and see if the natives 
of this kraal aren’t whiter than you.” 

“The men have all gone on a hunt,” Dowson said stolidly, 
“and the women won’t give you food. Come on. We’ll be 
at Peters’s place by noon; you can eat there. Better write to 
your bank first. You’ll need a hundred pounds.” 

He handed pencil and paper to the Major, who, tongue stick¬ 
ing out of the corner of his mouth, indited a letter to the 
Colonial Bank authorizing them to pay bearer the sum of one 
hundred pounds. 

“What a damned fool you are,” Dowson said as he took the 
paper from the Major. “Well, let’s go.” 

Outside the hut the Major saw Jim in the custody of four 
natives. 

“I thought you said the men had all gone on a hunt,” said 
the Major. 

“These men are my bodyguard, and yours.” Dowson blew 
on a whistle and a boy brought up two horses. He and the 
Major mounted and, followed by Jim and the four natives, 
moved off. 

At the gate in the stockade the storekeeper halted with an 
impatient curse. “I forgot to give you your rifle and re¬ 
volver,” he said. “You’ll need them. We might see some 
game on the way.” 

He shouted an order and one of the warriors ran back to the 
store, entered, and returned bearing J:he Major’s arms and 
ammunition. These he handed to their owner. 

“I got them from the chief last night,” Dowson explained. 
“It’s lucky for you you gave them up without giving any 
trouble. A rifle or revolver isn’t much good with these men 
at close quarters, not if there’s a lot of them. You might kill 
five or six, but the rest ’ud keep on coming. That’s a good 
thing to know, Aubrey.” 


86 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Three hours later the little party came within sight of a 
small homestead built, it seemed from a distance, at the base of 
a towering kopje. It was evidently the farm land of an in¬ 
dustrious white man. Acres of land were under cultivation, 
and in a large corral were a lot of oxen. 

“You can go the rest of the way yourself,” said Dowson 
drawing rein. “I’m not on good terms with Peters. He’ll 
give you a better welcome if you go alone.” 

“All right, old man. It was good of you to take so much 
trouble, even if you wouldn’t give me breakfast. You’ll let 
me know when the messenger comes back from Kimberley, 
won’t you? Good-bye. I’ll give your love to Mr. Peters. 
I hope he’s a better-tempered Johnny than you are.” 

Dowson snarled some unintelligible reply and rode off, fol¬ 
lowed by his bodyguard. As he rode he blew three loud blasts 
on his whistle. 

The Major looked at Jim wonderingly. 

“The white man is surely a thing of evil, baas.” 

“True, Jim. The spoors of my thought are crossed. There 
are many things I do not understand. Why does he do this? 
If he is going against Peters, why does he permit me to come 
here? Why did he return my rifle and revolver?” 

“I know nothing, baas,” Jim 
replied, “save that I am hungry, 
and that over there is the place of 
a white man who may be friendly 
to us, and who may suffer us to 
eat.” 

“Then let us go there.” 

About ten minutes later they 
reached the homestead and were 
greeted by a tall, powerfully built 
Dutchman. 

“Allehmachtig!” he exclaimed. “What make you here? 
Are you a friend of that son of Belial, Dowson? Ach! But I 
see you’re not. You are clean. He is-” Peters spat ex- 






A MATTER OF RANGE 


87 

pressively. “Come in,” he continued. “Your boy will take 
your horse. I have no boys; they have all left me because of 
that schelm Dowson.” 

“My boy is hungry,” said the Major in the Taal, and the 
Dutchman’s face lighted with joy. “Can he get food?” 

“Surely. I, myself, will get it for him. It is long since I 
heard the speech of my fathers. My wife, she is English; and 
my daughter says the Taal is the language of barbarians. Go 
in. I will see to your boy, then we will eat and talk. Oh, 
surely we must talk.” 

He went off with Jim, and the Major, standing in the door¬ 
way, was undecided what to do; whether to follow them, or 
enter the house unannounced. 

“Won’t you come in, sir?” 

He turned with a jump at the sound of a low, well modu¬ 
lated voice, and its owner laughed merrily at his discomfiture. 

“I’m frightfully sorry I made you jump. But please come 
in, or are you too shy? And if you’re too shy, won’t you 
please put on your helmet? You’ll get sun-stroke if you 
don’t.” 

“I’ll come in, if I may,” mumbled the Major. “But it’s not 
fair, really, it’s not.” 

“What’s not fair?” 

“For a beautiful young lady like you to pounce upon a man 
unawares.” 

“I think you’d better see Mother,” she replied demurely, and 
led the way into a pleasant room. 

“Mother, this is Mr.—er-” She looked inquiringly at 

the Major, her brown eyes twinkling. 

“St. John. Aubrey St. John,” the Major said hurriedly. 
“And, of course, you are Miss Peters and this is Mrs. Peters.” 

He bowed to the other occupant of the room and then ran 
out of the door, nearly knocking down Peters who was just 
coming in. 

“Man,” he exclaimed, “I’ve got to see you at once. I want 
to talk to you where the womenfolk can’t hear us.” 


88 


THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 


“Ach! You have expressed my desires. Where the women 
can’t hear us, eh? We will speak a great deal in the Taal — 
the language of barbarians! My daughter has little respect 
for her father, I think. That is the fault of an English mother. 
But I am content. I would not have things different. Yes. 
We will talk. But first we will eat. Not since yesterday sun¬ 
down have you eaten, your boy tells me.” 

But the Major had him by the arm and, leading him into 
another room, shut the door. 

“We will talk now,” he said, and the Dutchman sobered 
instantly at the tone of his voice. “There is much to do, and 
little time in which to do it.” 

And the Major told him briefly all he knew concerning the 
machinations of Dowson. 

The Dutchman, his blue eyes blazing with wrath, listened 
in silence until the tale was all told. 

“Yes,” he said then. “He would do that, the devil! To 
gain his own ends he would commit murder—worse. He sets 
the blacks against men of his own colour. And worse even 
than that, he seals the death warrant of Thuso’s people. For 
the military—whether it be the soldiers of the English, or those 
of the Portuguese—won’t spare them once they take the field. 
Once they are on the warpath the natives will fight until the 
last man is killed. And that won’t be very long. But first 
they will kill me, and the good wife, and the little daughter, 
and you. The devil!” 

“But why must we die? We can hold them off. You have 
rifles”—the Major’s eyes rested on the rifle rack at the end 
of the room, “—and ammunition. You can shoot, and your 
wife and your daughter; yes?” 

“They are better shots than most men,” Peters said proudly. 

“Well then. I can shoot and Jim, my servant, if he is 
bribed or in fear of his life, can squeeze a trigger. We can 
hold them off. Perhaps when they see that Dowson’s charm 
doesn’t work they’ll give up.” 

The Dutchman’s face lighted. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 89 

“You are right, man, I tell you. We will hold them off. 
They will attack soon, you think?” 

“Yes. The warriors had all left the kraal this morning, and 
after Dowson left he blew some signals on his whistle. Better 
break the news to the womenfolk now. Oh, yes, and send Jim 
in here to me, will you, and some food? I’m hungry.” 

Peters left the room and five minutes later Jim entered, 
grinning cheerfully, bearing a tray laden with food. The 
Major fell to with great zest, earning Jim’s ungrudging admi¬ 
ration. 

“It is better to have a full belly and die, baas,” he chuckled, 
“than to be empty and live.” 

“A man only says that when he is empty, Jim. When he is 
full, life is very pleasant. And now I am full; therefore I do 
not want to die; therefore I shall not die.” 

As he spoke the door opened and Peters, followed by his 
wife and daughter, entered. They were all very serious, but 
showed no trace of fear. The women went over to the rack 
and took down their rifles. 

The Major joined them. “I see you have Expresses. That 
is too bad. That means, I suppose, that you have no .303 am¬ 
munition?” 

“No!” the girl scoffed. “The .303 is a lady’s gun.” 

“Hardly that, miss. It makes a frightful hole if you file 
down the bullet and make dum-dums. Your father tells me 
you can shoot?” 

She smiled proudly. 

“And you, too, Mrs. Peters?” 

Mrs. Peters nodded, but her lips trembled slightly as she 
said, “I don’t know how I’ll shoot to-day. I’ve never shot at 
a man before.” 

“You’re not going to shoot at a man, Mother,” the girl said 
hotly, “but at a snake. Let’s show Mr. St. John what good 
shots we are. Look!” 

She pointed out of the back window where, on the rocks at 
the base of the kopje—it was over six hundred yards away— 


90 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

targets were painted. Between the house and the targets were 
mounds which marked the various ranges: Two, three, four, 
five and six hundred yards. 

“Five bulls out of ten shots at six hundred yards is Mother’s 
record. Not bad, eh, Mr. St. John?” 

“ ’Pon my soul, no! And you, what is your record?” 

“You shall see. Get the cartridges out, Father. We always 
keep the cartridges locked up,” she added in explanation to the 
Major. “Some of the boys like to use them for earrings, and 
they’re too precious to be used that way.” 

Peters knelt down before a large, iron-bound chest and 
raised the massive lid. 

“Allehmachtig!” he roared. “The devils, the slim devils. 
They’ve taken the cartridges. Not one have they left!” 

The others crowded around him in consternation. The 
chest was empty. 

“It must have been Simeon, our house boy, who took them,” 
continued Peters. “I’ve always trusted him, I thought he was 
loyal. He’s been with us for years, and now-” 

“But you must have cartridges somewhere else. You didn’t 
keep them all here, surely,” expostulated the Major. 

The Dutchman shook his head slowly. 

“Yes. It was a rule I made. Never did we leave cartridges 
lying around. Always they must be in that chest. We used 
but few; we did not need them save when we went hunting, or 
shot at targets. We had no fear of the natives, and so—but 
what use are words? The cartridges have gone.” 

“Well! Never mind,” said the Major cheerfully. “At 
least my gun is all right, and I have”—he counted his rifle 
cartridges—“forty-nine shots. Perhaps that will be enough to 
stop them. It will be more than enough if I can get Dowson 
with my first shot—and I will.” 

But he was conscious of a feeling of doubt. 

“I wonder-” he began slowly. 

As he spoke a wild chanting was borne to their ears on the 
breeze, and the Major, rifle in hand, rushed to the window 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


9i 


just in time to see a band of warriors, dressed in full war 
regalia, burst like a black wave of death from the quiet sea 
of corn. 

At their head, dressed now as a witch doctor of the tribe, 
was Dowson. Even at this distance the Major could recognize 
the man; could hear his sneering voice shout obscenities which 
brought a blush to the faces of the women and muttered curses 
to the lips of Peters. 

Going down on one knee, resting his gun on the window sill, 
the Major covered the renegade 
and fired. A loud yell of de¬ 
fiance greeted the shot which, to 
an accustomed ear, lacked the 
usual sharp crack of a high-pow¬ 
ered rifle. Dowson leaped high 
into the air in satanic derision, and 
the horde came on. 

“You missed,” said the girl 
quietly. 

“Yes, I missed,” retorted the 
Major, “and now I know why 
Dowson dared to let me have my rifle and cartridges. That 
was only the percussion cap in the cartridges we heard.” 

“You mean?” She whispered the question, fearing that her 
mother might overhear and lose somewhat of her splendid 
courage. 

“That he has taken all the powder out of my cartridges. 
Look!” 

He held one of them toward her. It showed signs of having 
been clamped in a vise, evidently while the charge was re¬ 
moved and the projectile replaced. 

“He’s clever,” the Major said bitterly. “He thinks of 
everything. Oh, he’s deuced clever. And when the natives 
hear me firing and see that no one is killed or wounded, they 
think it is because of his charm. And every time I fire I 
strengthen his case. Listen to him. He’s telling them we 












92 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


can’t hurt him or them. And the beggar’s right. Damn! 
Oh, damn!” 

The girl looked round cautiously. Her father and mother 
were searching for stray cartridges. 

“Perhaps,” she whispered hopefully, “the police will come. 
I sent word-” 

“No hope there. They got your message and—and sent me.” 

“Well,” she bravely concealed her disappointment, “we 
mustn’t let them know yet. It might discourage them and we 
mustn’t be discouraged.” She put her firm, tanned hand on 
his. “I have it,” she went on. “If we take the bullets out 
of all your cartridges we might find among them enough pow¬ 
der to make one full charge. Let’s try.” 

“It’s a happy thought—but look! Dowson’s coming on 
alone.” 

As he spoke Dowson left the warriors and advanced until 
he was within fifty yards of the house. He carried a rifle in 
his right hand. 

“I’m going to try a few shots at him,” said the Major. 
“Perhaps he’s left enough powder in one of the cartridges to 
carry that far.” 

He fired six shots in rapid succession, but the experiment was 
a vain one. The reports echoed mockingly as the percussion 
caps exploded, but found no charge within the cartridges to 
speed the projectiles on their way. 

And now Dowson began to caper 
up and down, shouting rude taunts. 

“In a little while,” he cried in the 
vernacular, so that his followers 
could understand, “we will come 
and wipe you out. Then we will 
wipe out all the white men that 
dwell between here and the great 
waters. Nothing can harm my 
warriors, for I have cast a spell over them; the guns of the 
white men cannot harm them. In a little while we shall come 



A MATTER OF RANGE 


93 


for you. The young maiden and the woman shall be given to 
the young men. The old man and he-who-can-hold-his-eye-on- 
the-palm-of-his-hand shall be given to torture, they and the 
black dog their servant. Fires shall be lighted on their bellies; 
their eyelids shall be cut off. In a little while we will come. 
But first we will eat. Even now my warriors kill an ox. We 
will drink its blood, then we will drink your blood.” 

“Try your revolver,” whispered the girl. 

The Major shook his head. “He’s treated those cartridges 
the same way. The cunning devil has thought of every¬ 
thing.” 

“Down!” she exclaimed, and pulled him down with her 
hand. 

Dowson had suddenly levelled his rifle and fired. The bul¬ 
let whistled viciously over their heads and struck Peters, who 
had risen to join them, in the right shoulder. 

He dropped to the ground with a moan, but quickly re¬ 
covering, waved them on one side as they sprang to assist 
him. 

“It is nothing! Ach Gott! It is nothing, I tell you. Keep 
watch and kill that schelm. Keep watch! Why don’t you 
fire?” 

And the Major, not wishing to confess yet that his rifle was 
as useless in this emergency as a child’s toy, obediently fired 
several rounds. 

“He keeps under cover all the time,” he said as if he wished 
to explain his lack of success. 

Dowson gesticulated in derision and then swaggeringly re¬ 
joined the warriors who greeted him with wild shouts of praise.. 
They were sure now that the white man’s charm was in¬ 
fallible ; that there was nothing to stop them from wiping out 
all white men. 

They retreated some three or four hundred yards to where a 
huge pyre had been built. Twelve oxen stood near by waiting 
to be butchered. Torches were applied to the pyre; assegais 
gleamed in the sun, then showed again blood red. The bel- 


94 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

lowing of dying oxen mingled with the savage shouts of blood- 
lustful men. Women brought large calabashes of beer which 



were greedily drained; the scent of roasting flesh filled the air. 
All was given over to revelry. 

But always Dowson, the renegade, danced in front of the 
fire, encouraging the warriors to heartier drinking and promis¬ 
ing them great wealth in the days to come. 

“We are safe for a little while, at least,” said the Major as 
he and the girl joined the others. 

“You fired twelve shots,” said the Dutchman, “but Dowson 
still lives. And it is not your fault; no; it is the cartridges, 
eh?” 

“Hush, Father. Mother-” 

“Mother knows all about it, daughter,” Mrs. Peters said 
softly. “Dowson has thought of everything, hasn’t he?” 

“No!” the girl cried excitedly. “We are going to take the 
bullets from the cases and perhaps we’ll find enough powder 
to make several good charges. I’m sure we will.” 

“Haw! Haw!” Peters laughed noisily. “My daughter is no 
bread-and-butter girl. She thinks beyond Dowson’s cunning. 
Well! Let’s to work.” 

They seated themselves at the table, the cartridges, rifle and 
revolver, before them, and with feverish haste commenced to 






A MATTER OF RANGE 


95 


act on the girl’s suggestion. As each bullet was extracted they 
carefully tapped the empty case, holding it over a sheet of white 
paper. 

The women, Peters and the Major used pliers, but Jim, with 
his white, strong teeth, worked faster than any of them. 

Frequently the girl would glance up at the Major and her 
eyes would sparkle, her lips part a little, disclosing even, pearly 
teeth. He was very good to look upon, and she had seen very 
few men. 

Soon their task was finished. Upon the sheet of paper was 
a thin, black film—that was all. Dowson had done his work 
thoroughly. 

“I’d have been satisfied,” muttered Peters to the Major, “if 
we could have found enough for just twd shots.” 

“It won’t come to that,” the Major replied uneasily. “Can’t 
we escape now out that way?” He pointed to the hills at the 
back of the house. 

“Had that been possible we would have gone long ago. 
Even if we aren’t watched—and I take it we are—there’s no 
way up that kopje. It rises up a sheer one hundred feet, man, 
and no foothold.” 

The Major turned to Jim. “Well, what think you? Have 
we run our race?” 

Jim looked up with a scowl from the long, wicked-looking 
knife he had discovered and was whetting on the sole of his 
foot. 

“I don’t like this, baas. Are we women, we two, to sit here 
waiting for what may come to us ? Let us go our way. Who 
is there to stop us?” He slashed viciously with the knife. 

The Major chuckled. “I do not see how that may be, Jim. 
My place is here”—he looked at the girl—“and I cannot go. 
But you, you are a free man.” 

“Baas, listen! I have a plan. You have failed. Those 
noise sticks of yours have failed—as I have always said they 
would when you most need them. But this will not fail.” 

Again the gleaming blade swished through the air. 


96 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Those fools,” he motioned toward the howling warriors, 
“are drunk; the watch they keep is poor. Who is to stop me 
if I wish to join them—to drink beer, and to eat the flesh of 
the ox. I shall be as one of them. I shall go and come as I 
please, and I shall please to be near the white man. Once 
near him-” 

Swish went the blade. 

“And then, Jim?” the Major questioned softly. 

“Then, baas, the warriors will see the things he has told 
them are nothing but lies, and they will go to their kraal. On 
the other hand they may be too drunk to perceive how greatly 
I have helped them. If that is so, I die. But if I stay here I 
surely die, slowly, without a chance to test this knife. It is 
a good blade; it has a sweet song.” 

The Major looked at the Dutchman and Peters nodded 
gravely. 

“He is a man. Let him go.” 

“Yes; go, Jim. I would be glad to die with you as I have 
lived with you. I have been a poor baas, and now, because of 
me, you must die before your time rightly comes.” 

“And when does my time rightly come, baas? When I am 
old and toothless; when I can no longer follow the spoor, or 
drink to fullness; when life is only a memory of the better 
things gone by; when I am fit only to herd goats, pitied and 
mocked? Nay, baas. Then it is too late to die. The time to 
die is when the eye is still keen, the blood still strong and 
warm; when there are no regrets, no sighing for things gone 
by; when, as now, I can take my place—a man among men. 
As for the rest, baas, what need of words between us two? 
Let me go now before the woman that is in me rises to the top.” 

He turned slowly away, but the Major caught him fiercely 
by the shoulder. “Stay, Jim. What is that in your ear?” 

Jim turned and put his hand wonderingly up to his ear and 
took from the slit in its lobe a cartridge. 

He looked at it in silence for a moment, then handed it to 
his baas. 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


97 


“I always said I was a fool, baas! Beat me!” he said. 

But the Major ignored him and his face was grave, although 
the others were elated. He did not dare encourage them to 
hope; he must be sure first. 

“What distance, Peters,” he asked, “is Dowson from here?” 

The Dutchman crossed over to the window, wincing with 
the pain of his shoulder as he did so. 

“Four hundred and fifty, perhaps five hundred, perhaps more. 
The light it is deceiving.” 

“I’ve got to be surer than that. Jim, give me my helmet.” 

Jim looked alarmed. 

“Why? Is the baas going out? The baas will not forget 
that he said I might go.” 

“Give me my helmet. I am going to measure the distance 
from here to the man Dowson.” 

And now the others shared Jim’s alarm and crowded round 
the Major. 

“Man, you must have been hit. Sit down and let us bathe 
your head.” 

“It is the sun, perhaps,” murmured Mrs. Peters. 

The girl placed her cool, slim hand on his forehead. 

“He has no fever,” she announced gravely. 

The Major took her hand and pressed it gently, reassuringly. 

“You are so funny,” he exclaimed. “Here we are in the 
deuce of a hole, and you forget everything because you think I 
have a little fever. But see!” 

He placed the white pith, broad-brimmed helmet on his 
head and, standing in the center of the room so that he could 
look out of the window toward the natives, he could see Dow¬ 
son who was seated on the stump of a tree. 

Always keeping his eyes on Dowson, the Major lowered his 
head until the focus of his eye, the brim of his hat and the 
storekeeper were in one straight line. Then, not raising his 
head or shifting his eyes, he slowly pivoted in his tracks until 
he was looking out of the window beyond which was the rifle 
range. An imaginary line, drawn from his eyes to the brim 


98 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


of his hat and extended, touched a boulder at a point about 
six feet from the ground, at exactly the two hundred range. 

Three times he did this, while the others watched wonder- 
ingly, and each time his experiment worked out the same. 

“Seven hundred yards from here to the targets didn’t you 
say, dear miss?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“And two from seven leaves exactly five. Five hundred 
yards! Why that’s a nice easy range for target shooting. I 
think that even I can score a bull’s-eye from here.” 

While he spoke he ran a pull-through through the barrel of 
his rifle, satisfied himself it was clean, loaded it with the one 
precious cartridge which Jim had taken for a charm—ages, it 
seemed, ago. 

“Five hundred yards,” he muttered, and pushed up his sights. 
“A gentle wind, not much. Better make a little allowance, 
just a very little.” He adjusted the wind guage. 

He brought the rifle up to his shoulder. His cheeks cud¬ 
dled lovingly into the butt, he exhaled deeply. The muzzle 
wavered slightly as, with wide-open eyes, he searched for his 
target. Getting the target aligned with his sights, his right 
forearm, strengthened by the sling, stiffened. 

Then, when it seemed they must all scream aloud in protest 
against the frightful suspense, a 
sharp report broke the silence and 
the bullet was sped on its way. 

The Major dropped his rifle 
and seemed to follow the course 
of the bullet with his eyes. 

They all tried to do that. 

And they saw Dowson, the man 
who had betrayed his race for the 
hope of gain, leap up into the air 
and fall in a huddled heap at the 
foot of the tree-stump upon which 
he had been sitting; they saw the warriors of Thuso run to 



A MATTER OF RANGE 


99 


examine him; saw them pick him up and shake him; saw them 
drop him again—a huddled, lifeless heap—and run headlong 
from the place. 

* * * 

Three days later four white men, wearing the uniform of 
the police, came to the kraal of Thuso. Matiswa, the son of 
Marka, was with them and he was greeted as one newly risen 
from the dead. From Thuso the police heard part of the 
story and, desiring to know the whole of it, they rode on, taking 
the Major’s horse with them. 

And there, at the Peters homestead, they saw Jim, who told 
them much; and Peters and his wife, who told them more and 
fed them well; and the girl, her eyes shining with pride and 
happiness, who told them everything. 

At her request they decided to return at once to their head¬ 
quarters—hoping that the Major would have the sense to keep 
out of the way until they had gone. But they ran into him 
just beyond the last corn-patch, and immediately covered him 
with their revolvers. 

'‘You’re a damned fool, Major,” said one. “Why didn’t 
you keep out of the way?” 

“Now we’ve got to take you back with us.” 

“But everything will be all right, don’t you fret, when we 
tell them at headquarters what you did here.” 

The Major, polishing his monocle, replied with a disarming 
smile. “But I don’t want to go back. I’ve done nothing, 
really I haven’t. You misjudge me when you hunt me down 
like a bally criminal. But as you’ve brought Satan back for 
me, I can forgive you a great deal.” 

He patted the satiny coat of his horse. 

“They say that stallion of yours is fast, Major,” said the 
first trooper. 

“He is.” 

“Betting man?” 

“Sometimes. Why?” 

“Bet you can’t ride him out of range in five minutes.” 


100 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“That’s too easy.” 

“Is it? Well, I’ve made me bet. Are you on?” 

“Yes.” With a quick leap the Major was in the saddle and 
the stallion was racing down the winding trail which led to 
the homestead. 

Gravely the four troopers waited until the first one said, 
“Time’s up!” Then each pulled his rifle from its scabbard 
and fired shot after shot into the air. 

“Well, he got away from us,” one commented mournfully, 
“let’s go,” and they started on their homeward journey about 
the same time the Major dismounted under a large tree where 
the girl was waiting for him. 

“ ’Pon my soul,” he said, “those police chappies were awfully 
decent. I wish-” 

He stopped short. 

She came toward him and patted Satan’s neck. 

“He’s a beauty,” she said. 

“Isn’t he,” the Major exclaimed enthusiastically. “Would 
you take—I mean I would like to give him to you, dear Miss 
Peters, but-” 

“Of course I wouldn’t accept him,” she replied softly, “and 
my name’s Dorothy. But-?” 

“But to-morrow we must be on our way—Jim and I.” 

“Where? Why?” her voice expressed incredulous dismay. 

“I don’t know where—up north, maybe. You see, dear 
Miss Dorothy, I’m a wanted man—a beastly criminal, don’t 
you know. And so, don’t you see, I must go.” 

She shook her head. 

“No! You are wanted here. Father asked me this morn¬ 
ing if I thought you would stay and help him—at least until 
his wound has completely healed. And, somehow, I don’t 
think we’ve heard the last of Whispering Smith. Whatever 
he’s after—he won’t let it go just because his first attempt has 
failed. You’ll stay, won’t you?” She looked appealingly into 
his face and he smiled down at her reassuringly. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll stay.” 


A MATTER OF RANGE 


IOI 


Something in his earnest regard of her brought a slight flush 
to her face and she half swayed forward to meet him then 
turned and ran toward the house. 

“ Ton my word,” the Major murmured, “I wonder-” 

And then Jim stepped from out of a near-by clump of bush. 
“When do we leave here, baas?” he asked. 

“Never, Jim old top,” the Major cried gaily in English. 
Then added in the vernacular: “We stay here, Jim, for a long 
time. You see—other evil may come near these people and 
they will need our help.” 

“Women are stronger than men, baas,” Jim grumbled. “It 
is you that will need help.” 


CHAPTER V 


BLUE CLAY 

I T WAS generally believed that WTiispering Smith—who 
was more often called “Whip”—was in the confidence 
of all the criminals in South Africa. 

Captain Breen, late of the Kimberley Police, was even more 
radical in his statements and infinitely more positive. At the 
same time, he frankly admitted that he had no definite proof 
to back up his statements which were to the effect that Smith 
engineered every robbery, planned every murder, and was the 
chief gainer in every illicit diamond buying deal. 

Captain Breen was never given the chance of proving his 
statements for, shortly after they were given publicity, he was 
transferred to an outlying district and his official duties, from 
that time on, were strictly confined to native affairs. 

As for Smith: 

It was his habit, for he was a 
methodical man, to keep strict 
office hours. From nine to five he 
sat at his desk in a little room lead¬ 
ing off the bar of his saloon. It 
was a neat, efficiently appointed 
office; it contained no superfluous 
furniture. A roll-top desk, one 
chair, a large safe, sundry letter 
files and a copying press—that was 
all. In the small, pot-bellied 
stove a fire was always burning no matter how hot the day. 
Smith believed that fire was the best destroyer of secrets en¬ 
trusted to paper. 



102 


BLUE CLAY 


103 


Most of the time at his office he spent working at his books 
—wherein names appeared with greater frequency than figures 
—or reading newspapers from every part of the world. He 
was an accomplished linguist. 

Occasionally as he read he chuckled softly to himself, occa¬ 
sionally a muttered curse would pass his lips, and occasionally 
he would cut out an item and paste it in one of his books. 

These clippings were nearly all accounts of missing men— 
wanted men; absconding cashiers, bankrupts, embezzlers, men 
who had made one step from the straight path of honesty and 
lacked the moral courage to face the music. 

Such accounts as included a portrait and full description of 
the missing man, Smith pasted in a special book. This he, with 
delicious irony, had labelled “Black Sheep to be Redeemed.” 

All “wanted” men seemed to gravitate to South Africa— 
to Jo’burg or Kimberley—in those days, and Smith paid a 
bonus to any of his satellites who could identify among the 
constant stream of newcomers to the diggings a man, or woman, 
whose dossier was in his file. 

No one liked Smith; all feared him. Not a physical fear— 
he was undersized and notoriously afraid of firearms—but the 
instinctive fear which many men have for snakes. He had 
ways to make men come to heel—ways of treachery—and the 
men who haunted the underworld of South Africa acknowl¬ 
edged him as their superior, and jumped to obey the whip-like 
urge of his whispering voice. 

This morning Smith seemed to be in a good humour and, 
as he hastily, yet thoroughly, examined the pile of foreign 
newspapers on his desk, the scissors and paste were in constant 
requisition. His chuckles were staccato, like the reports of a 
rapid-fire gun. 

Then, the newspapers having been attended to, he stamped 
loudly on the floor—twice. 

The door behind him, leading to the bar of the saloon, 
opened instantly and closed behind a tall, gray-haired wreck of 
a man. 


104 THE major—diamond buyer 

“Yes, sir?” 

Smith did not turn his head; did not move. 

“Tell Solly and Brimmer I want them.” 

The door quickly closed again behind the gray-headed one. 

Smith opened his “Black Sheep” book and turned the pages 
slowly, stopping occasionally to read an item or closely to 
scrutinize a portrait. He was still engrossed in his task when 
the door opened again and two men entered. 

One, he who answered to the name of Solly, was a horsey- 
looking fellow, wearing a loud-checked suit and a bowler hat 
which was cocked jauntily over one ear. His face was un¬ 
healthily pale, save for the boiled-lobster scarlet of his promi¬ 
nent nose. His fingers were long and slender—the fingers of 
an artist. They were the tools of his trade; with them he 
filled his pockets with other people’s money. 

His companion’s well-set-up figure suggested military train¬ 
ing. His alertness and general bearing were in striking con¬ 
trast to Solly’s slinking posture. 

The average man in the street would have accepted Brim¬ 
mer as an honest man, but a close observer would have noted 
his bloodshot eyes and the furtive look of fear which was in 
them. 

Both men waited in silence, exchanging uneasy glances, then, 
believing that Smith was unaware of their presence, Brimmer 
shuffled his feet by way of announcement. 

Smith turned over another page of his book. The minutes 
passed. 

Then Solly, prefacing his words with a dry, apologetic 
cough, said, “We’re here, boss. Ba said you wanted us. 
We-” 

He stopped short as Smith whirled round in his chair. 

“You talk too much,” he said. His voice was barely above 
a whisper, yet Solly and Brimmer quailed. 

“You, Brimmer! What do you think I keep you in the 
police for? No. Don’t answer. I’ll tell you: To give me 
inside information—and I want it before it gets out in the 


BLUE CLAY 


105 


newspapers. See? Why didn’t you tell me about this affair 
at Thuso’s kraal? Why didn’t you tell me that Dowson, the 
damned fool, had been killed?” 

“I thought,” Brimmer stammered, “I thought—I didn’t 
know you’d be interested, boss. From what I heard of it, it 
was only a crazy fool trying to set himself up as king of the 
niggers and got bumped off for his pains.” 

“You’re too clever, Brimmer,” Smith sneered. “You’re like 
Dowson. If he stuck to orders everything’d have been all 
right. But he thought he had brains and tried to use ’em. 
Blast him! Know anything else about the affair, anything that 
didn’t get into the papers?” 

Brimmer hesitated. 

“Well, out with it, you fool!” 

“There’s a rumour at the police headquarters, boss, that it 
was the Major who put a spoke in Dowson’s game, and they 
say that they’re going to forget all about the Major’s getting 
diamonds from the Anton Syndicate.” 

“Oh, they are, are they? Where’s the monocled fool 
now?” 

“Don’t know, boss. The four troopers who went after him 
said that he’d escaped into Portuguese Territory. Do you 
want me to get him?” 

“No! He’s made a fool of you once, but he’s only a blun¬ 
dering ass. I’ll get him when I’m ready. Perhaps I’ll give 
him a job, some day. No. I want a man to get the Peters’ 
farm for me.” 

“Why, boss?” 

“Mind your own damned business, Brimmer. All you have 
to do is obey orders and not ask a lot of damned fool questions.” 
His voice cut like the lash of a whip. “Come here,” he went 
on, and pointed to one of the portraits in his book. 

“Got anything on this Johnny, yet?” he asked. 

“No. He won’t gamble and he keeps to himself, boss.” 
This was Solly’s contribution. 

“And you, Brimmer?” 


io6 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The man shook his head. “Not a thing.” 

“Well-” Smith sighed—“what do you suppose I keep you 

in the police for? I want him badly. Go and get him for 
me—both of you. Here-” 

From his desk-drawer he took a medium-sized, uncut dia¬ 
mond and handed it to Solly. 

“Same as usual, boss?” asked Brimmer. 

Smith nodded. 

* * * ' 

Two hours later, at the sound of voices raised in anger, 
Smith leaned back in his chair and smiled contentedly. 

“Don’t you let him take you, cully!” That was Solly’s 
whining voice. “The police are all crooks; he wants to frame 
you.” 

“Come on now,” it was Brimmer speaking, “young feller.” 

“I tell you I won’t.” The third speaker was evidently ex¬ 
cited and a little bit afraid. “I’ve done nothing. What do 
you want me for?” 

There was the sound of a scuffle then Smith went to the 
door and opened it. 

At the far end of the room, Brimmer was arguing with a 
stranger, and Solly was standing close by urging the stranger 
to resist arrest. 

Excepting these three, and the barmaid who watched the 
men with incurious eyes, the bar-room was empty. 

As Smith entered Solly yelled, “Go and tell Whip Smith all 
about it, Kid. He’ll settle this—in his place; he’ll help you 
out.” 

“What’s all this about, officer?” 

At the sound of Smith’s voice Brimmer turned and said 
apologetically, “I was trying to persuade this man to go 
quietly with me.” 

“What’s he done?” 

“He’s an I. D. B. He tried to sell a stone to Solly.” 

“You’d better go quietly,” Smith advised the stranger. 


BLUE CLAY 


107 


“No good making a fuss—it’ll only make the case look blacker 
against you. Besides, I won’t have any scrapping in my saloon 
—it gives the place a bad name. 

“If he wants to take me, he’s got a fight on his hands,” the 
other replied hotly. “I’m no I. D. B., and I’m not going with 
this man until I can find some friends to go with me. I’ve 
been warned that some of the plain clothes men are always 
trying to frame a man.” 

“You’ll either come quietly,” Brimmer began threateningly, 
“or-” 

He glanced significantly at his revolver which he had drawn 
from his hip pocket. 

“Now don’t be impatient,” Smith said complacently. “Sup¬ 
pose you both come into my office and talk it over.” 

He turned and entered the room, followed, after a moment’s 
hesitation, by the stranger and Brimmer. 

The policeman softly closed the door. 

“Now,” said Smith—he had seated himself in his chair and, 
leaning back, his finger-tips pressed together, had assumed a 
judicial air—“what have you against this man, Brimmer?” 

“As I said before, he’s an I. D. B., Mr. Smith. No doubt 
of that. I saw him try to sell a stone to Solomon.” 

“It’s a lie,” the accused man said hotly. “I was having a 
drink at the bar with Solly—don’t know why he asked me to 
come in; hardly know him—when this chap came up and made 
his ridiculous accusations.” 

“Lies pretty, don’t he ?” Brimmer said mockingly. 

“Have you searched him?” 

“No, Mr. Smith.” 

“Well—suppose you do that now. If he hasn’t the stone 
on him, he’s free. If he has-” 

A shrug of the shoulders completed Smith’s sentence. 

“That’s good sense, Mr. Smith,” Brimmer said as he ad¬ 
vanced to carry out the suggestion. 

The man backed into a corner. 

“I tell you I won’t let you search me.” 


io8 


THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 


“Then suppose I do it?” Smith suggested. “You don’t 
suspect me of crooked work, surely?” 

“All right,” the other assented reluctantly. 

Methodically Smith went through the suspected man’s pock¬ 
ets and placed on the desk the articles he found there—a watch, 
penknife, a handful of coins, the photograph of a buxom, 
motherly-looking woman, and a bundle of letters. 

Finally, from the top vest-pocket, he extracted a medium¬ 
sized, uncut diamond. 

The expression on his face was one of pained surprise, but 
Brimmer cried exultantly, “There! What did I tell you?” 

The stranger looked at the diamond in amazement. 

“It’s a frame,” he cried angrily. “Some one put it there. 

“Are you trying to say that I framed you ?” 

“Er—no, Mr. Smith,” the other faltered. “I watched you 
closely while you were searching me. You found it in my 
pocket—I’m sure of that. But that man,” he pointed at 
Brimmer, “must have put it there.” 

“That’s what they all say,” scoffed the policeman. “Come 
on, young un.” 

He jangled the handcuffs suggestively. 

The “young un’s” muscles tensed and he seemed about to 
make a break. Then, suddenly, he relaxed and held out his 
hands. 

“All right,” he said submissively. “I’ll go quietly.” 

All fight had left him, and when Brimmer fastened on the 
handcuffs he seemed about to break down. 

Smith eyed him keenly and, as the policeman was about to 
leave the room with his prisoner, he said, “Wait a minute, 
Brimmer. I’d like to have a talk with this chap—alone. I 
believe he’s innocent.” 

Brimmer hesitated. 

“It’s not the usual thing,” he said, “but I guess he’s safe 
enough with you.” 

Smith nodded. 


BLUE CLAY 


109 

“I’ll be personally responsible for him. Go and order your¬ 
self a few drinks. Tell Aggie they’re on the house. 

“And now,” he continued as the door closed behind Brim¬ 
mer, “we’ll have a nice little confidential chat. Just we two. 
You say you know nothing of the stone?” 

He picked up the diamond which Brimmer had carelessly 
left on the desk. 

“I saw it for the first time when you took it out of my 
pocket,” the other said earnestly. 

“Humph! Do you know, I’m inclined to believe you. But 
can you prove it?” 

The other shook his head. 

“I don’t see how I could—it’s my word against Brimmer’s.” 

“And mine,” Smith added softly. “Of course if he called 
me as witness, I’d have to tell the truth.” 

The other agreed glumly. 

“And the penalty for I. D. B. is a long term of hard labour 
on the Breakwater. You know that?” 

“Yes, I know that.” 

“It’s a pity,” said Smith sorrowfully. “Yes, it’s a great 
pity—Mr. Tom Burton.” 

The other’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. 

“What—why—?” he exclaimed. “How did you know my 
n/me? What-?” 

“What else do I know? you would ask. I know a great 
deal. For instance—what do you think of this?” 

He turned to his book—his Black Sheep Book—and read 
slowly: 

Police Circular. Number 19785. 

Reward offered for information leading to the arrest of Tom Bur¬ 
ton. Age, 24. Height, 5 feet, seven inches. Weight, fourteen stone. 
Brown eyes. Light brown hair. 

Smith stopped and looking up, asked pleasantly, “Shall I go 
on? Or would you like me to read the account of the young 
cashier named Tom Burton who absconded with the pay-roll? 
Or would you like to see a picture of yourself before you grew 


no THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

a moustache ? Or, better still, I have an account of your former 
social activities. You were quite an athlete, I should say— 
here’s a touching interview with your mother.” 

“Stop!” The command was a hoarse croak. “What’s your 
game, Mr. Smith?” 

“My game? I don’t quite understand.” 

“Oh, yes you do. I don’t know just what, but I’m paying 
back the money I—I stole. In two or three months I’ll have 
paid it all back.” 

“That’s very noble of you—very, I’m sure,” said Smith 
soothingly, but his smile acted like a goad on Burton. 

“What’s your game?” he cried again. “I don’t care what 
it is. I’ve gone straight, I tell you, since I came out here.” 

“My dear boy, I don’t want to interfere with you, but, of 
course, I must be honest with myself and pass on my knowledge 
to the police. Not to do so would make me an accessory after 
the fact. And as to your going straight out here—there’s this 
to be explained, you know.” 

He toyed absently with the diamond. 

“But,” he continued quickly, “I think I can make everything 
all right with Brimmer about this, and forget the rest, if you 
can see your way clear to help me in a little deal I want to put 
through.” 

“I won’t do anything crooked.” 

“You have no choice, my boy—not that what I want you to 
do is illegal. But here’s how we stand: Either you promise 
to help me with my little job—and I warn you that people 
who break their promises to me don’t live very happily; you’ll 
soon find that out—or I call Brimmer in and tell him all I 
know. Take your choice. Implicit obedience to me, or ten 
years on the Breakwater.” 

Burton made no comment, but maintained a thoughtful 
silence until Smith began to read softly: 

“Mrs. Burton expressed implicit confidence in her son’s 
ability to make good and his desire to make full restitution. 
She-” 


BLUE CLAY 


hi 


“Stop!” shouted Burton. Then in quieter tones he asked, 
“What do you want me to do?” 

Smith’s smile was one of complete satisfaction and he rubbed 
his hands briskly together. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said. 

* * * 

Time passed quickly for the Major at the Peters’ homestead; 
quickly, because happily. He worked industriously about the 
farm, superintended the care of the stock and saw that the 
natives, who had returned shamefacedly to work after their 
abortive rebellion, did not get out of hand or soldier too much 
at their tasks. 

The Peters—the ingenuous, fearless outspoken Dutchman 
and his sweet-faced, motherly, English wife—treated the 
Major like their son, begged him to make his home with them 
permanently. 

“Ach sis , ma-an!” Peters had begun one night. “I’ll tell 
you something that is on my mind. But first I will fill my 
pipe.” 

They were sitting out on the stoep , watching the sun drop 
swiftly behind the distant kopjes, rejoicing in the cool breeze— 
doubly welcome after the brazen heat of the day. Mrs. Peters 
was busy with some intricate needlework and the Major was 
lolling back in his chair, watching, through half-closed eyes, 
Dorothy; she was carefully darning his socks. Behind the 
Major, clad in immaculate white duck, his baas’s cast-offs, 
stood Jim, his arms folded, his eyes, too, fixed on Dorothy. 

“Now I’ll tell you,” said Peters after several vigorous puffs 
at his pipe. “Listen Major, ma-an, why don’t you and Doro¬ 
thy get-” 

Dorothy sprang up hurriedly, crying, “Come on, Major! 
Let’s go for a ride before it gets dark. Beat you to the stable!” 

She vaulted over the low rail of the stoep and ran with grace¬ 
ful swiftness toward the low, corrugated iron shed some two 
hundred yards from the house. 


112 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Excuse me,” murmured the Major and quickly followed 
her, Jim bringing up the rear at a more leisurely pace. 

Peters, his sentence unfinished, took his pipe from his mouth 
and looked perplexedly at his wife. 

“Allehmachtig!” he exclaimed finally. “That’s the third 
time they have not permitted me to finish saying what was on 
my mind. And you sit there, Mary, and do not speak one 
word to help me.” 

Mrs. Peters looked up from her sewing and regarded him 
affectionately. “You’re so clumsy, my dear,” she murmured. 
“But look, there they go!” 

She waved gaily as the Major and Dorothy rode from the 
stable and cantered slowly away. 

“Poor Jim,” she added, as the Hottentot leaned discon¬ 
solately against the stable door. “It wouldn’t make him 
happy!” 

And that was true. Jim had watched the friendship— 
something more than friendship, perhaps—of Dorothy and the 
Major with alarm. Always before, his baas had evaded the 
society of women; but then the Major had never before known 
a woman like Dorothy. 

She had hunted with him and explored the surrounding 
kopjes; had helped with the work on the farm and had 
listened with sympathetic understanding to the things he told 
her of his career as an I. D. B. He found her such a good 
pal; there was, as he once expressed it, “no footling nonsense 
about her.” She could ride, shoot and follow game spoor as 
well as he could—and there were few men who could compete 
with the Major on equal terms. But there was nothing dis¬ 
tastefully mannish about her; she was equally at ease with a 
needle as with a gun. He was eager to know what she thought 
of him, but lacked the courage to ask her. Besides, he rea¬ 
soned, he hadn’t the right; he was a criminal, a fugitive from 
justice. 

And Jim, sensing that he no longer held first place in his 
baas’s affections, became very bitter. 


BLUE CLAY 


113 

But all this was before Burton arrived; Burton, the young 
stranger who came to the homestead claiming acquaintance with 
some of Mrs. Peters’s English friends. Burton—he said he 
was a botanist—was urged to make the Peters’ farm his head¬ 
quarters. 

Almost from the day of his arrival, Dorothy changed. 

Burton rode indifferently, Dorothy rode worse; Burton’s 
shooting was atrocious, Dorothy refused to shoot at all; Burton 
was a babe in the bush, but Dorothy was even more helpless. 
Her air of self-reliance suddenly vanished; she squealed and 
appealed to Mr. Burton for protection at the sight of a harm¬ 
less grass snake; she began to talk of her complexion and 
showed an unusual interest in fine needle-work and other 
feminine arts. She relegated the Major to the position of her 
father’s friend. 

Thinking of all this, the Major, who felt not a little hurt 
at the desertion, yet thought he understood it, began to be very 
curious about Mr. Burton. 

‘What do you think of this white man, Jim?” he asked. He 
and the Hottentot were seated on a rough platform built high 
above the mealie patch. At the back of them was a precipitous 
kopje which was the home of numerous baboons who took 
advantage of moonlight nights, such as this, to raid the crops. 
Hence the watch-tower and the watchers. 

“That is a hard question, baas,” Jim answered thoughtfully. 
“At times he is in all ways worthy, save that he is no hunter 
and continually seeks the company of Missy Dot. Then again 
he seems to be a man who plans evil, or who is afraid that evil 
will overtake him.” 

“So! You, too, have noticed that, Jim?” 

“O-ah, yes, baas. Bai Jove, rippin’ damn me.” 

The Major laughed quietly. When he spoke again it was 
in English and, though he addressed himself to Jim, he was 
really thinking his thoughts out loud. And Jim listened in¬ 
tently as if every word were pregnant with meaning to him. 

“He’s no botanist, Jim, this chappie Burton,” drawled the 


11 4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Major. “If he’s one, I’m one; and, I’ll give you my word of 
honour, I know nothing about the flowers that bloom in the 
spring, tra-la!” 

“Tra-la! Yah, baas,” Jim interposed gravely. 

“What? Oh, yes. Tra-la, of course, Jim. Well, I’m 
quite sure he’s not a botanist and that means he’s pretending to 
be something he’s not. Q. E. D. What?” 

Jim started violently. “Yah, baas. What? Gorblessme.” 

“And,” continued the Major, “Miss Dorothy is, I think, in 
love with him; and he with her. And that won’t do. Not 
if he’s a fraud. I wonder what his game is. Might put old 
Peters on his guard—but no, that wouldn’t be playing the 
game. I’ve nothing against the chap, really. Just the same, 
old Peters is too bloomin’ trusting; he’s trusting me.” And 
the Major smiled bitterly. 

“Baas!” The Hottentot interposed. 

“Yah, Jim?” 

“A stranger from over the river came to the homestead to¬ 
day.” 

“Yah?” 

“Yah, baas. He had a letter for Baas Burton.” 

“And you only tell me now?” 

“I had forgotten, baas, until this moment.” 

“And why do you remember now?” 

“Because—look, baas.” 

Jim pointed across the river, a mile or more away. A tiny 
flame of light was discernible. 

“It is a white man’s camp, baas. The Shenzi was sent by 
the men who camp there.” 

The Major nodded. He did not question Jim’s statement. 
If the Hottentot said it was a white man’s camp and that the 
Shenzi was that white man’s messenger, it was so. The Hot¬ 
tentot had an almost uncanny intuition, deductive powers—call 
it what you will. 

“We will pay them a visit in the morning, Jim.” 

“That is good, baas. But must we stay here all night? I 


BLUE CLAY 


ii5 

desire room to stretch my legs. Let us call the black dogs”— 
Jim was very contemptuous of the natives of the district—“who 
work for the Dutchman, Peters. Let them keep their broth¬ 
ers, the apes, away from the corn patch. If we are to trek in 
the morning we need sleep.” 

But the Major shook his head. 

“In a little while, Jim. I don’t wish to hear the foolish 
babble of a young man and maiden, or listen to the aimless talk 
of the maiden’s parents. When they are all sleeping, then we 
shall go.” 

The Major’s tone was bitter; so bitter that Jim looked at 
him in alarm, saying: “Does it hurt the sun if a child or a 
woman say, ‘I like best the moon’ ?” 

Jim stopped abruptly; his muscles tensed and he held up his 
hand in a warning for silence. 

There was a stealthy rustling in the outer fringes of the 
corn patch. The Major took up his rifle, but lowered it as 
Jim shook his head. 

“It is not the baboons, baas,” he whispered, “but a man—a 
white man.” 

“Can you see him, Jim?” 

“Nay. He keeps well in the shadow of the corn. But in 
a little while—ah! There. See? It is the Baas Burton and 
he goes to the white man’s camp across the river.” 

“Ha!” 

The Major’s eyes narrowed as he watched the tall figure of 
Burton emerge from the corn patch and hasten down the hill¬ 
side.” 

“We shall follow, Jim,” said the Major, and climbed down 
the watch tower’s rickety ladder. 

“There is no need for such haste, baas,” Jim grumbled. 
“He travels like an ostrich running before a pack of wild dogs. 
He cannot keep a straight trail. Also, he makes more noise 
than a rogue elephant. We cannot lose him.” 

“You talk too much—come.” 

At a swift pace the Major led the way through the corn 


116 


THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 


patch and Jim, wondering not a little at the Major’s mood, 
followed closely. 

Yet, notwithstanding the speed, their progress was noiseless, 
and not a stalk was broken. 

As they came out of the corn their attention was attracted 
by an excited jabbering to the right of them. There, four or 
five baboons were watching another which was caught in a 
trap. And such a trap! Only monkeys and men—rsome men 
—could be caught by it. 

It was a circular hole in the hard, rock-like earth, about a 
foot deep and of a diameter barely large enough to admit a 
monkey’s paw. In the bottom of the hole nuts had been 
placed and these the baboon discovered and, putting in his paw, 
had grabbed a handful, looking forward to a luxurious meal 
easily earned. 

But his fist was so distended with the nuts that he could not 
withdraw it from the hole; neither would he let go of the nuts 
but struggled—and would continue to struggle through the 
remainder of the night until overcome by exhaustion—hoping 
to gain his freedom and the nuts, too. 

“Shall I kill him, baas?” 

“Nay, Jim. He shall be our guard. The others will 
watch him and give him much advice. They will forget they 
are hungry.” 

“Some men are like monkeys,” said Jim. “I was once 
caught in a trap even as that one is; aye, I had four wives. 
But I opened my hand and let them go and so I escaped from 
the trap.” 

The Major turned away impatiently from the chattering 
baboons, intent upon following Burton, and Jim followed, 
shadow-like. 

Immediately beyond the small plateau which Peters had cul¬ 
tivated, the kopje dropped sharply, becoming, in some places, 
quite precipitous. The trail was little better than a goat path 
and, judging by the scrambling noises ahead of them, Burton 
was having great difficulty in negotiating it. 


BLUE CLAY 


1 17 

But the Major, despite the fact that the soles of his heavy 
shoes were studded with nails, experienced no more trouble 
than the shoeless, sure-footed Hottentot. He had to govern 
the speed of his descent by that of Burton’s—and Burton was 
very slow. 

Once they had reached the foot of the kopje, however, they 
were able to make better time. Here the trail broadened, and 
Burton broke into a run. Every once in a while he would 
leap high into the air, or swerve quickly from his course. 

“He sees many snakes, baas,” Jim explained to the Major. 
“He jumps over them.” 

“Keep quiet, Jim,” the Major retorted sharply. “He may 
hear us.” 

“Then his ears must be keener than his eyes, baas,” the Hot¬ 
tentot said with a low chuckle. 

The two were running almost abreast of Burton, but were 
keeping well under cover of the bush which lined the 
trail. 

After a time they came to the river. It was the dry season 
and, save for a small pool about which hung a heavy smell of 
musk, the water had vanished. The white sandy bed looked 
like snow in the cold light of the moon. They watched Burton 
cross over to the other side. Silhouetted against the glaring 
whiteness he seemed unreal; like a caricature shown on a 
shadow-picture screen. Burton, the setting, everything, seemed 
to belong to another world—to a world of two dimensions. 

“We cannot cross here, baas,” said Jim. “They will see us. 
Let us cross up there.” 

He pointed up-stream where, about five hundred yards dis¬ 
tant, the river made a sharp bend. 

The Major made a gesture of dissent and said, “That will 
take too long, Jim. Much may be said in the time we take to 
go to that place. I will cross here; they will not see me. 
But you—you will go up to the bend.” 

“But the baas does not mean to go on alone? He will wait 
for me?” 


118 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“I will wait for you under the big tree which is close to their 
camp. Now go.” 

As Jim started off on the run the Major cautiously wormed 
his way down the steep bank and, having reached the bed of the 
river, made his way across it, crawling on his belly. He felt 
fairly secure for, unless some one were looking for him with 
seeing eyes, he was practically invisible. His white duck trou¬ 
sers, white tunic-coat and the large white pith helmet he wore, 
The only thing of colour about him 
was his rifle and that he trailed be¬ 
hind him. At a distance, and to 
a casual observer, it would have 
looked like a sluggish snake. 

It took him over five minutes to 
cross that thirty yards of sand and, 
a few minutes later, he was hidden 
in a clump of bush under the baobab 
tree where Jim was to meet him. 

He was chagrined to find that he 
could not get any closer to the 
camp of the strangers than he now was, for—and so proving 
that they were no novices on the veld—they had cleared away 
the bush around them, the tree marking the limit of their 
endeavours. But, though the Major was not near enough, 
and could not get near enough, to overhear their conversation, 
he was at least able to hear disjointed fragments and could see 
quite plainly the faces of the strangers who were seated about 
the camp fire. Burton sat with his back to the Major, the 
four others facing him. 

Three of the four were heavily bearded and wore the non¬ 
descript garb of prospectors. The fourth was clean-shaven 
and was dressed in black; he wore a white collar, a “choker.” 
He seemed to be doing all the talking and his voice boomed 
sonorously. 

“Where have I heard that voice before,” the Major re¬ 
flected. “ Ton my soul, if I closed my eyes I could almost 


blended in with the sand. 




BLUE CLAY 


119 

imagine that I was in church. He sounds like a bloomin' 

clergyman, dresses like one, too. I wonder if it’s-? Oh, 

it must be—Holy Joe. If it is, we’ll have some fun to-night 
—of a sort. Wish I could get a little nearer.” 

He listened intently, but could get no further definite clue 
to the identity of the man with the booming voice. 

The conversation droned on, monotonously. Isolated words 
and phrases occasionally registered above the drone, and the 
Major made a mental note of them, endeavouring to supply 
the gaps between. But he made little progress. 

The name “Smith,” “Whip Smith,” “Whispering Smith,” 
was mentioned many times. And “Peters” and “gold claim.” 

The Major pricked up his ears as the girl’s name was men¬ 
tioned and wondered when, a few minutes later the word 
“marry” detached itself from the drone and came floating to 
him. 

The voices grew louder now; there seemed to be differences 
of opinion; threats were passed back and forth. 

“You’re a bloody fool-” “You’ll do it, or-” “Whip 

Smith’ll get-” “Put that knife h’up, Joe.” 

Then the deep voice boomed out, “Shut up, you chaps. He’s 
all right. Leave him to me. He’s just a little nervous—that’s 
all.” 

Then the drone commenced again. 

But the Major had heard enough. He knew that Burton, 
the self-styled botanist, was an accomplice of the four men— 
who were Whispering Smith’s men—and was planning with 
them to get hold of Peters’s gold claim. In some way, the 
Major reasoned, they were going to work on Peters through 
Dorothy. 

“Probably kidnap her or something like that, and hold her 
for ransom,” he murmured. 

That was enough for the Major. With what he had seen 
and overheard he could face Burton before the Peters family 
and show him up in his true light. 

“He’s a bally snake in the grass,” the Major reflected, and 



120 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


smiled at his melodramatic phrasing. “But I wonder what 
Miss Dorothy will do when she finds her idol has feet of clay? 
She’s such an all-round good fellow that I’m sure she won’t 
stand for this two-faced business. But, by Jove, it’s worse 
than that. He’s the villain of the piece. And what do vil¬ 
lains do? Why, they try to marry the beautiful heroine so 
they can grab the filthy lucre. So that’s it—if nothing hap¬ 
pens.” 

The Major sighed, then continued: 

“Yes; it means the end of Mister Botanist Burton. But, 
somehow, I don’t feel awfully chipper about it—an’ I ought to 
be. As a matter of fact I feel rather annoyed—and I’ll be still 
more annoyed if this business means I’ve got to hang around 
here much longer. My word! If old Peters doesn’t do as I 
suggested about his old claim after this, he jolly well deserves 
to lose it. 

“I wish Jim would come. He’s been a deuced long time. 
Ha! Our friends over there are gettin’ warmed up again.” 

The voices of the men around the fire were raised now in 
hot argument and above them all could be heard that of 
Burton. 

“I tell you, I won’t,” he cried, and there was a note of 
finality in his voice. He rose to his feet and walked slowly 
away. 

The Major saw that the botanist’s course would bring him 
within a few yards of his hiding place and he made ready to 
draw back still further into the shelter of the bush. 

But this measure of caution was unnecessary for Burton had 
only advanced a few paces when the others sprang to their feet, 
as one man, and ran after him. 

The man in black was the first to reach him, and grabbed 
Burton by his coat collar. 

“Not so fast, my dear friend,” he boomed. “We’re not done 
with you yet.” 

Burton turned quickly, and with a wrench tore loose from 
the hold of the man in black and faced the four defiantly. 


BLUE CLAY 


121 


“I tell you I won’t go on with it,” he said with an air of 
assurance which was belied by the quiver in his voice. 

That quiver, however, the Major conceded, might have been 
the mark of excitement. 

“Well, now! So you won’t go on with it?” Evidently the 
man in black was the spokesman of the four; the others seemed 
to be inarticulate. “Well—if you won’t go on with it, you 
don’t go. You stay here.” 

“You can’t stop me.” Burton was defiant. “I’ve played 
fair with you. I’ve warned you that the affair’s all off. I 
might have led you on and trapped you.” 

“Yes, my dear boy. You’ve played fair with us—we’re not 
denying that—and undoubtedly you’ll get your reward in hea¬ 
ven. But you mustn’t expect us to reward you. Oh no! 
And—you—stay—here!” 

His hand shot out again, but Burton easily dodged it and 
countered with a right to the jaw which had all the force of his 
one hundred and seventy-five pounds behind it. Black clothes 
went over backward, falling to the ground with a jarring thud 
which knocked all the wind from his body. 

It was all the Major could do to refrain from applauding 
the blow. 

“Come on,” Burton cried belligerently. “Who’s next?” 

Two of the men silently closed in on him—the Major won¬ 
dered why they did not use their revolvers—and Burton 
retreated steadily before their advance. It was evidently his 
intention to get his back up against the baobab tree, but as soon 
as the men sensed his stratagem, they cast discretion aside and 
rushed him. The first he met and checked with a straight left, 
but the other got under his guard and grappled with him. 
Once again Burton proved his strength and the splendid condi¬ 
tion he was in, for he lifted his assailant bodily and threw him 
from him, striking the third man in the chest and bowling him 
over. Then he turned to run, but the man in black had re¬ 
covered from his fall and, leaping to his feet, rushed to the 
attack. Burton was forced to turn and meet him. 


122 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


The man in black’s fist-play was feeble, but it sufficed to 
hinder Burton from making his escape, and gave the other three 
time to join in the melee. 

In their eagerness the four got in each other’s way and, for 
a time, Burton held his own; the gasps and curses of his op¬ 
ponents punctuated his sledge-hammer blows. It seemed that 
Burton would win through, despite the odds against him. 

Then the man in black disentangled himself from the fight¬ 
ers and, picking up a large stone, raised it, intending to bring 
it down on Burton’s head. 

And at that moment the Major decided that the fight had 
gone far enough. 


Stepping out from his hiding 
place, his rifle at his hip, he called 
out, “Time, gentlemen!” 



At the sound of his voice the 
five turned to face him and raised 
their hands above their heads at 
the menace of his rifle. 


“A very good mill,” he drawled. 
“Not according to the rules of 
dear old Milord Queensberry, of 
course, but quite excitin’. And, 


I must say, save for the fact that you out-number Bruiser 
Bill Botanist Burton four to one, you fought quite fair¬ 
ly. Hitting in the clinches, of course, but that was to be 
expected. There was no kicking or biting. You fought 
quite like little gentlemen, and I’m sure you’re not. No? 
But there was an exception I’m sorry to say. And the excep¬ 
tion was the gentleman in black. It’s Holy Joe, isn’t it? I 
thought so. Your voice sounded deucedly familiar, dear ex- 
Reverend. Or perhaps you are not ex. It may be that you 
go on the premise that once a clergyman, always a clergy¬ 
man.” 

“I’ve never been unfrocked, my dear fellow, and, let me tell 
you, I call this interference of yours most unheard-of and 



BLUE CLAY 123 

uncalled-for. This young man suffers from strange homicidal 
delusions and—er-” 

“And—er—you were goin’ to bash them out—and his brains 
in—with a stone. Is that it? Tut tut! But what I can’t 
understand is why you didn’t blow his brains out. You’re all 
armed, aren’t you? You all carry revolvers, I mean?” 

“We have no desire to have the blood of a fellow creature 
on our hands. ‘Those who take the sword will perish by the 
sword.’ We do not wish to harm the dear boy. He is a 
soul to be saved.” 

“We wouldn’t stand for no shootin’,” growled one of the 
others. “We ain’t murderers.” 

The Major regarded the speaker with interest. “No? 
Then just what are you? Is it that-?” 

He stopped abruptly and with incredible swiftness brought 
his rifle to his shoulder and covered Holy Joe, who thinking 
that the Major was off his guard had dropped his hand to his 
revolver. 

“No. That won’t do at all,” the Major said in hurt tones. 
“Won’t do at all, Joe. I don’t want to have your blood on my 
hands, or my blood on your pure soul. So put up your hands 
again—quick.” 

The drawl was absent from the Major’s voice now, and 
Holy Joe quickly obeyed the peremptory command. 

“And now,” continued the Major lapsing into the drawl 
again, “I’m goin’ to ask Mr. Burton to disarm you all. That 
done we shall leave you to your own sweet selves. 

“But to make sure you won’t be tempted to do any shootin’ 
while he’s taking up the collection, I’m goin’ to show you that 
I’m not half a bad shot myself. Rather vain-glorious of me, 
perhaps, but boys will be boys. Now for a mark. I think 
that’s a hyena sneaking up to your camp, don’t you, Joe? I 
hate hyenas. They remind me of some men; or should I say 
that some men remind me of hyenas? However, be that as it 
may, that’s goin’ to be my target. Of course the moonlight’s 
deceptive, and I may miss. About two hundred yards I 


124 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


should say, and the bullet will go within a few inches of your 
sanctimonious nose, Joe, so don’t move.” 

Without seeming to take aim, his eyes apparently fixed on 
the men, the Major fired. 

There was a loud explosion; the gun flew from the Major’s 
grasp and, reeling backward, he lost his balance and fell. 

Holy Joe was quick to take advantage of this sudden and 
unlooked-for change of fortune. His hand leaped to his re¬ 
volver—he was counted one of the quickest men on the draw 
in South Africa—and covering Burton, he shouted to the others 
to take care of the Major. 

But they had anticipated him and, almost coincidentally 
with the bursting of the rifle and the Major’s staggering fall, 
had pounced upon him. His struggles being weak and spas¬ 
modic, they quickly secured his hands and feet with their 
belts. That done, they carried him over to the camp fire, pre¬ 
ceded by Holy Joe and his prisoner, Burton. There they 
dumped the Major unceremoniously on the ground and get¬ 
ting a long reim from their wagon which was near by, bound 
Burton. 

Then, at Holy Joe’s orders, they drove two stout stakes into 
the ground about fifteen feet apart and, turning the Major 



over on his face, tied his feet securely to one of the stakes. 
Burton they treated in a similar fashion at the other. The 
hands of the prisoners, stretched out over their heads were 
lashed firmly together, and it would be hard to conceive of a 
more secure method of lashing two men. They were absolutely 
helpless. 




BLUE CLAY 


125 


Holy Joe chuckled. 

“That will hold them,” he said. “Dust they are and to 
dust returneth. But we won’t take any chances. Bill, you 
and Jake will stay here—more to keep the hyenas and wild 
dogs away than to watch these beauties. You won’t have to 
bother about them. They can’t budge an inch. So you 
would show me how to shoot, eh, Major? That’s what they 
call you, isn’t it? Such vanity! And such a prodigious fall!” 

“What hit me?” asked the Major. His voice was muffled, 
for he could hardly lift his head from the ground. 

“Why, you fool, your rifle exploded.” 

“Oh! I must have got some sand in the barrel when I was 
crossing the river. What a bally ass I am. But it doesn’t 
matter. I couldn’t have hit the beastly hyena anyway. I 
don’t know anything about rifles. I wish you’d let me get up. 
It’s beastly uncomfortable stretched out on the ground this 
way. I’m getting my mouth full of dirt, ants are crawling 
down my back, and this other Johnny keeps strugglin’ so that 
the ropes are cutting into my wrist.” 

“You’ll stay that way for quite a while, my poor deluded 
fool. It’ll teach you to attend strictly to your own affairs in 
future. Come on, Dale.” 

“Just a minute,” said the man called Jake. “Where are 
you and Dale goin’ to, an’ wot’s yer game? I don’t fancy 
much bein’ left ’ere.” 

“Nor does Hi. ’Ow does we know you won’t play us 
dirty?” 

“Don’t be silly,” Holy Joe explained. “I’d take you, but 
you both talk like gutter rats and that would spoil the trick 
I’m going to play. Dale knows when to speak and when to 
hold his tongue. He’ll almost pass for a gentleman.” 

“But wot is yer game?” 

“A very simple one which, D. V., I’ll have no difficulty in 
playing. I’m going to tell Miss Peters that Mister Burton 
has been seriously hurt and needs her at once. If I know 
women—and I flatter myself I do—she won’t stop to question 


126 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

the time of night, or the strangeness of it all, but will be ready 
to come with us at once.” 

“Yus—I can believe that. But suppose ’er h’old man an’ 
woman come, too?” 

“That will be quite all right. We can manage them, too. 
The more the merrier. Come on, Dale.” 

He and the man he addressed walked over to the horses which 
were tethered to the wheel of the wagon, saddled two, mounted, 
and galloped swiftly away. 

The other two men, having got their rifles from the wagon, 
sat down on their blanket rolls which they had pulled up to the 
fire—the night air was chilly—lighted their pipes and puffed 
contentedly. 

“I say, old fellows,” the Major called out presently, “Won’t 
you release us? It’s bally cold, you know, and I give you my 
word I won’t try to escape.” 

“You stay quiet, mister,” Bill replied. “You ’eard wot 
Joe said. We ain’t goin’ ter take any chances.” 

“But this won’t do at all, really. I tell you what. Let me 
in on your little game. I’ll be satisfied with a fifth share— 
and I can help you a lot.” 

The two men guffawed loudly but made no reply; neither 
did they respond to the Major’s taunts and maledictions. He 
had a caustic tongue and he gave it full play hoping to sting 
the men from their state of indifference. But they seemed 
deaf to it all and, finally, he was obliged to give it up. The 
strain of keeping his head turned toward them was too great. 

He looked now straight ahead of him—full into the eyes of 
Burton. 

“Case of when thieves fall out?” he said contemptuously. 

Burton flushed, but said quietly, “Yes. You have every 
right to say that. But how about you? You were offering 
to go in with them.” 

“And do you think I would?” 

The answer came without the slightest hesitation. “No. 
You see I’ve heard a great deal about you—before I came up 


BLUE CLAY 


127 


here, and from Dorothy. But I don’t quite understand. If 
you didn’t mean to have anything to do with these men—why 
are you here?” 

“I was followin’ a sneak of a chap who was plannin’ to rob 
his host.” 

The Major watched the boy keenly* but the other did not 
seek to avoid his gaze. 

Suddenly, perhaps it was the memory of the good fight 
Burton had made, the Major said softly, “Suppose you tell me 
all about it?” 

“I’d like to—from the beginning, if I may.” 

The Major nodded and in a low voice, without any hesi¬ 
tation Burton told his story. He did not whine, made no 
attempt to excuse his actions, but in the unbiased tone of a 
judge instructing a jury, told of his life at home in England; 
of the temptations which broke down his moral stamina lead¬ 
ing to the pilfering of the bank’s petty cash; of his escape to 
Africa and his remittances home which were gradually wiping 
out his debt. 

“In another three months I would have been all square,” he 
said, “and then Smith got hold of me. That man’s a 
devil.” 

He went on to tell how Smith had framed him, threatening 
to have him arrested as an I. D. B. if he did not help with 
Smith’s plans to get possession of Peters’ gold claim. 

“And just what part were you supposed to play?” questioned 
the Major. 

“I was”—and now for the first time Burton had difficulty 
in telling his story—“I was to make love to and marry Miss 
Peters. I was to elope with her, if I couldn’t get old Peters’s 
assent. That’s why Holy Joe’s here—he was to marry us 
and keep an eye on me.” 

“But I don’t see how that would help Smith. Your marryin’ 
Miss Peters, I mean.” 

“Smith said that Peters would tell his son-in-law all about 
his affairs, and, for his daughter’s sake, would give up his 


128 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

claim rather than let her husband be sent back to England to 
face trial as a thief.” 

“I see,” the Major said reflectively. “You mean to say that 
Smith doesn’t know where the reef is?” 

“No! And I don’t believe Peters knows, either.” 

“Uh! Well, why didn’t you go on with the plan?” 

“I couldn’t!” 

“Why not? Wouldn’t Miss Dorothy accept you?” The 
Major’s eyes gleamed hopefully. 

“It was not that. You see, I love her—so I told her what 
a rotter I was. And she knew all the time.” 

“She what?” 

“She knew that I was up to some crooked business. That 
was why she played around with me so much, trying to get me 
off-guard.” 

“Ah! I see.” The Major beamed. 

“She advised me to confess to her father and I did—to-night. 
At least partly. I told him all about my trouble in England. 
He was a brick. He advanced me money to clear up that 
matter, and I’m going to stay and work for him on his 
farm.” 

“I see. He’s a trusting fool, Peters, isn’t he?” 

Burton flushed. 

“Did you tell Peters about this other matter?” 

“No. Like a damned fool I didn’t. I thought that if I 
came here to-night and told Holy Joe that the thing was all 
off, he would go away. I never dreamed he’d try anything 
like this. Now he’ll get Dorothy and threaten, and perhaps 
do all sorts of things to her and so compel her father to give 
up the claim. What a damned fool I am.” 

“Yes, you’re a damned fool,” the Major said dryly, “but I 
think that’s partly because you’re very young. Now do stop 
trying to get loose. They’ve done a deuced good job with 
their tying up, and the more you struggle the tighter the knots 
get.” 

Burton obediently gave up his futile struggles and was about 


BLUE CLAY 


129 


to speak again when the raucous cry of a gray lourie sounded 
from the vicinity of the baobab tree. 

The Major chuckled softly, and then laughed at the look of 
indignation in Burton’s eyes. After a short interval the cry 
sounded again—“Go-a-way!” This time the bird was, ap¬ 
parently, perched in the bush back of the wagon. 

Again silence and then, “Go-a-way! Go-a-way! Go-a- 
way!” 

The bird had flown back to the baobab and its cry was tri¬ 
umphant. 

“Blast that bloomin’ pest,” said Bill. “I’d like to wring its 
bloomin’ neck. Fair gave me a start, it did. I was nearly 
asleep.” 

“Me, too. I wishes Joe and Dale ’ud ’urry back. I wants 
ter go ter sleep. Lumme, but hit’s cold.” 

Jake rose stiffly and stretched himself yawningly. He ex¬ 
amined the two prisoners, satisfied himself that they were still 
fast bound and was about to return to his seat when a crimson 
glare just beyond the wagon held his attention. He rubbed 
his eyes and looked again. 

Then one of the horses whinnied in fear and Jake cried 
excitedly, “Bill, the bush’s hon fire. Come on—we got ter move 
the Weedin’ ’orses and wagons or we’ll ’ave ter walk ’ome.” 

He rushed over to the wagon, quickly followed by Bill, 
who cursed that “Weedin’ fool of a Dale. Hi told ’im ter be 
careful where ’e frew ’is cigs.” 

For a while the two were busy; moving the horses and 
wagon away from the danger zone; beating out the flames with 
branches of mapani. 

And so they did not see a dark form creep toward their 
prisoners from the direction of the baobab tree. But the 
Major was looking for just that. 

“Jim never fails,” he said to Burton, who was overjoyed at 
the thought of the nearness of freedom. “But he’s been a 
deuce of a long while coming. I’ll have to give the old beggar 
what ho!” 


130 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The Hottentot had now reached them and was cutting at 
the reims which tied his baas’s feet to the stake. Then he cut 
the Major’s hands loose from Burton’s and, his baas freed, cut 
the remaining ropes which bound Burton’s feet to the other 
stake. 

“I would have come sooner, baas,” he explained, “but that 
lions were drinking at the pool above the bend in the river. 
And Jim climbed a tree—quick. Golly dam yes.” 

“All right, Jim. First get the rifles; they left them on their 
blankets, and then rub Baas Burton’s ankles.” 

“But why do we stay here,” 
Burton exclaimed impatiently as he 
took the rifle from Jim. “Let’s 
hurry to the homestead.” 

“It is better to wait here. If 
Holy Joe’s plan works, and I ex¬ 
pect it will, he’ll be back in a little 
while. We can deal with him bet¬ 
ter here than on the trail. Re¬ 
member he’s mounted, and we don’t 
want to shoot—unless we have to.” 

a million needles were sticking to 

them,” he said. 

The Major smiled understandingly. 

“The fire dies down, baas,” Jim warned. “It was only a 
grass fire, and the grass was very thin. In a little while the 
men will return.” 

“Go back to the baobab tree, Jim, and wait there. Have no 
fear. All is well now—unless there’s sand in this barrel, too,” 
he added as an afterthought. “But a thing like that doesn’t 
happen twice in a night.” 

Quickly, snakelike, Jim made his way back to the cover of 
the bush. 

“Now, Burton, we’ll lie down just as we were before. Let 
’em think we’re still bound. Don’t want to hold ’em up until 



Burton nodded assent. 
“My hands feel as if 


BLUE CLAY 


131 

we’re sure they can’t break away. If they do, they’ll be able 
to warn Holy Joe and Dale; then we’ll be in a hell of a fix. 
And if we have to fire—the chances are Joe’ll hear the shot 
and that ’ud put him on guard.” 

The two resumed their former positions on the ground and 
waited confidently for the return of Bill and Jake. 

They did not have long to wait before the two men, mutter¬ 
ing angry curses, returned to their camp fire and seated them¬ 
selves on the blanket rolls. They were both very tired and 
cross so did not notice that their rifles had disappeared. 

Consequently when the Major and Burton suddenly sprang 
to their feet and the former drawled, “Hands up!” Jake and 
Bill, looking as if they were face to face with supernatural 
agency, made no show of resistance. 

“It’s a fair do, mister,” Jake said. “And hi ain’t a bit 
sorry. Treat hus easy. But ’ow yer got loose, beats me.” 

“Get their revolvers, Burton,” the Major ordered and was 
quickly obeyed. 

“Now you, Jake, get down on your belly with your feet 
against that stake. Tie him tightly, Burton. That’s rippin’. 
Now you, Bill. But wait. Take off your hat and jacket first 
—you’ll wear mine, and I’ll wear yours. Fair exchange, eh? 
Good. Now down you get.” 

Bill got down and presently the two were tied as securely as 
the Major and Burton had been. 

The Major added a final warning. “You’d better keep 
quiet. If you do anything to let Holy Joe—and he’ll be here 
soon—know how things are, you will be most frightfully sorry 
that your mothers ever taught you to speak. Do I make my¬ 
self clear? I do? That’s splendid.” 

The Major put on the hat and coat discarded by Bill and, 
moving the blanket rolls so that their backs would be toward 
the trail along which Holy Joe and his party would come, he 
and Burton sat down to wait. 

After long minutes Jim, hidden in the bush near the big 
tree, sounded the cry of the Go-away bird. 


132 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“They’re coming,” said the Major. “Hold yourself to¬ 
gether, youngster, and don’t go off half-cocked.” 

As he spoke, Holy Joe and Dale galloped up the trail and 
reined in close to the fire. They were leading a third horse to 
which was strapped a girl. 

“We’ve got her,” Joe said triumphantly as he dismounted. 
“She smelled a rat just as we came to the river, and we had to 
use a little force. Not much, of course. Just bound her 
lightly, and put a gag in her mouth. The little vixen nearly 
bit my thumb off. Come and help us get her into the wagon. 
Her old man’s close behind. We’ll nab him, too. He’s walk¬ 
ing; couldn’t catch another horse. Bill! Jake! Hell, what’s 
the matter? Wake up and give us a hand.” 

A loud report was the answer and his helmet flew from his 
head as if pulled by invisible wires. 

The Major and Burton had risen to their feet and, as they 
turned to face Holy Joe, the Major had fired. 

“Just to show you I’m really a good shot, reverend sir,” 
said the Major. “Yes; you’d better keep your hands up— 
how discerning you are. You, too, Dale. Funny how the 
tables have turned twice in one evening, isn’t it, Joe? The 
trouble with you is, you overlooked the nigger in the woodpile, 
or, to be more explicit—the Hottentot in the bush. 

“Go and take care of Miss Dorothy, Burton. I’ll tend to 
these chaps.” 

Quickly Burton released the girl and took the gag from her 
mouth. 

“I’m all right,” she said in answer to his inquiring look. 
“But you?” 

“I’m all right, too. But we’d have been in the soup had it 
not been for the Major.” 

“We’d always be in the soup if it weren’t for him,” she said 
softly. 

The Major—with the aid of Jim he was lashing Holy Joe 
and Dale to the same stakes which accommodated Bill and 
Jake—looked around with a smile, and for the first time in 


BLUE CLAY 


i 33 

many days put his monocle in his eye. The sight of it made 
Jim very happy. 

“Don’t you believe him, dear Miss Dorothy,” the Major 
drawled. “Burton’s a regular Goliath. Why he almost licked 
these four single handed. I think, if I were in your shoes, 
I’d—er—kiss him. Really! Of course his face is very dirty, 
and I think he’ll have one—perhaps two—black eyes, and his 
nose has been Weedin’—still, don’t you know, dirt sometimes 
covers a multitude of virtues. And diamonds are found be¬ 
neath mud—call it blue clay if you wish. Not that that’s blue 
clay which so plentifully besmears dear old Burton’s face, but 
the idea back of it’s true, if you know what I mean.” 

“Yes,” the girl replied quietly. “I understand—and thank 
you, Major.” 

And then Peters, large of frame, sadly out of breath, came 
running up to them. 

“Allehmachtig!” he exclaimed. “What is all this? I heard 
a shot—but first, at the river, my girl screamed. What is it 
you would do?” He looked belligerently from one to the 
other. 

“It’s all right, Father,” said the girl. “Come and sit down 
by the fire and we’ll make the Major and Tom tell us all about 
it.” 

When the story was told Peters turned to the Major and 
gravely shook his hand. 

“We are in your debt again,” he said. “What can I do? 
Everything, anything, we have is yours. Is it not so, daughter?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Do you mean that?” the Major exclaimed. 

“Surely—yes,” said Peters. 

“And what do you say, Miss Dorothy?” 

“Yes,” she replied in a soft voice. 

“Why—I—er,” the Major stammered, then stopped. Then. 
“I say, Peters, I want you to get rid of this gold reef of yours. 
It’s too dangerous. Will you promise me that?” 

“I’ll write to the Imperial Syndicate people to-morrow,” 


i 3 4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

the Dutchman said slowly. “But, ma-an, is that all you ask?” 

“That’s all—er—for the present.” The Major looked at 
Dorothy. “Now, look here, all you dear people toddle off 
home. Mrs. Peters will be worried no end. I’m goin’ to 
stay by these johnnies. There are a lot of things I want to 
tell them.” 

“Yes; you and Tom go, Father,” Dorothy added. “I’m 
going to keep watch with the Major.” 

Peters looked from his daughter to the Major. 

“If you had candles,” he said with a chuckle, “it would be 
almost as if he were opsit with you, Dorothy.” 

His chuckle grew to a laughing bellow as he noticed the 
flaming colour flooding her cheeks. 

“Come on, Tom.” 

They mounted the horses, Burton very subdued, and rode 
swiftly away. 

* * * 

Three weeks later Whispering Smith was hearing the re¬ 
port of Holy Joe. 

“It was a complete failure,” that man concluded. “Peters 
has sold his claim to the Imperial Syndicate on condition that 
they don’t start mining for a year. And you can bet they’ll 
keep good guard over it. It’s too bad, but if it hadn’t been 
for the Major happening along-” 

“Blast that monocled dude,” Smith screamed, shaken for 
once out of his habitual calm. “Call in the men from the bar¬ 
room. The order’s out to get that fool, the Major. He’s 
butted into too many of my plans; I’m going to get him. 
I’m going to hound him until he’ll come crawling on his 
knees, begging for mercy.” 


CHAPTER VI 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

W ITH the departure of Holy Joe and his men things 
soon dropped into the old, quiet routine at the Peters 
homestead, broken only by the excitement attending 
the arrival of men representing the Imperial Syndicate. They, 
expert geologists and mining engineers, quickly and efficiently 
performed their tasks and departed, first announcing that 
Peters’ homestead was sitting on a reef which would rival the 
Rand. 

Peters took his good fortune very calmly, almost indifferently, 
and had accepted without question the comparatively small 
sum the Syndicate offered him. Money meant nothing to 
him; he was content, more than content, with the old life. 
Mrs. Peters, too, seemed unmoved by the sudden access of 
wealth—she had known of the reef all along—but her eyes 
clouded when she heard Dorothy speak of England and the 
things she would do there. 

And the Major, noting this, wondered why a woman of such 
evident breeding and refinement should be content to remain 
an exile, should refuse to enter into her daughter’s joyful an¬ 
ticipation of “going home.” 

The Major, too, felt out of it. This talk of England filled 
him with nostalgia; but greater than that, even, was this con¬ 
clusion which forced itself upon him. He was an Africander; 
the lure of Africa had him fast. He could not, would not, 
exchange the wide, clean veld, its vastness and freedom for 
England’s neatly-hedged fields, and preserving laws. For 


135 


136 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


too long he had accepted men for what they were, to go back 
to a society where their family tradition was everything. 

But Burton; Burton was English, and young. His en¬ 
thusiasm made the Major feel old and very conscious of the 
few gray hairs at his temples. Gradually Dorothy began to 
ignore him and gave more and more of her time to Burton; 
teaching him to shoot, to ride, to follow the spoor of game; 
sharing his enthusiasms, laughing with him over some secret 
joke known only to the two of them. 

When, after many days, the Major announced that he was 
going with Jim to Kimberley—in response to a letter he had 
received from Colonel Hammond—Dorothy felt secretly re¬ 
lieved, yet did not stop to analyze her emotions. 

Following the Major’s departure, Dorothy, free now of the 
restraint his presence had on her, seemed to forget him and 
the promises, hinted at rather than spoken, she had made him. 

And then her mother, grave of face, entered her bedroom 
one night, sat down on the bed beside her and regarded her 
intently. 

“What is it, Mother?” she asked uneasily, thinking guiltily 
of the warm, meaning pressure of Tom’s hand as she had bidden 
him good-night. 

“Are you playing the game quite fairly, Dorothy?” Mrs. 
Peters asked gently. “Are you being fair to the Major?” 

The girl looked at her mother miserably. “I know, 
Mother,” she faltered. “I’m acting like a beast but—but,” 
she added with a rush, “I don’t know my own mind. I’m 
not sure. If it weren’t for Tom-” 

“Perhaps we’d better send Tom away.” 

Dorothy sat erect, her eyes wide open fastened upon her 
mother appealingly. “No, Mother. That wouldn’t help me, 
and it would ruin Tom. He’s such a boy, really. He needs 
the life here; he’ll make good in time. Daddy was say¬ 
ing, only the other day, that Tom was quick to learn. He can 
speak the vernacular as well as I can, almost, and he under¬ 
stands the natives. And—and—” 


137 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

She stopped confused. Then continued, “And if we turn 
him loose, now, he’ll lose out. You know he will. He must 
stay.” 

Mrs. Peters sighed. “That’s true, Dorothy, and he’s a nice 
boy. But still you’re forgetting the Major. What of him? 
Shall we ask him not to return?” 

The girl’s face knit in a puzzled frown. 

“No, that’s not the way either. I don’t know, Mother. 
Yes, I do though!” Her face brightened. “I’ll go and visit 
Jane du Toit at Speysburg for a week or two. Perhaps I can 
think things out better away from here.” 

“That’s a good plan, dear. Better start to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Peters rose and, bending over, kissed her daughter on 
the forehead, then quietly left the room. 

* *• * 

In the early days, when the plans for a railroad between 
Johannesburg and Delagoa Bay were first being considered by 
Kruger’s government, old Oom Spey secured government 
blue-prints showing the route of the proposed railroad. How 
he got them is immaterial, but it is worth noting that his wife’s 
second cousin was secretary to one of the assistant secretaries 
employed by the committee. 

These blue-prints indicated that the railroad would enter 
the Transvaal at the far-eastern corner of Oom Spey’s farm, 
and that a station, and custom house, would be built on the site 
of the Homestead. 

On the strength of this, Oom Spey found no difficulty in 
selling his unproductive farm-land to a rich syndicate. And 
his price was high! 

The syndicate, after greasing several palms—specially that 
of Oom Spey’s wife’s second cousin—smelled a rat and dis¬ 
posed of their holdings, in small lots, to worthy settlers— 
thirty of them—who were quick to realize the opportunities the 
place offered. Even if the land was poor and sparsely watered, 


138 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

it was in close proximity to a proposed railroad, a border sta¬ 
tion, and a custom house. 

For that, they were willing to pay high—and did. 

But the railroad never came. It crossed the border some 
two hundred miles to the east, and after a long time—years 
later—the settlers discovered that old Oom Spey’s blue-prints 
had been specially drawn for him. 

All of which merely explains the existence of Speysburg in 
such a benighted, God-forsaken, man-cursed spot; explains how 
the town came into being, sweated and groaned through the 
long days of drought, and shivered and cursed through the 
months of rain. And the settlers, their numbers augmented 
with the passing years, by dint of hard work and clever plan¬ 
ning, made a living where Oom Spey had starved. 

Normally the scattered township was one hundred per cent, 
law-abiding, and old “Snorter” Jones, the mounted policeman 
on duty there, had nothing to do but examine the passes of 
native labourers, and see that all the dogs were registered. 

“Ugh! I wouldn’t know how to arrest a man now if I had 
to. Ugh!” He used to complain bitterly. 

Then, in one day, the white population of the burg was 
increased by four men. Two came from the west, but not 
together; one from the north, and the third from no one 
knew where. And they were all law-breakers. 

Three of them—the two from the west and the one from 
the north—were under the direction of Whispering Smith, 
who the population of Speysburg did not at all know was the 
biggest rogue in all South Africa. At his bidding men stopped 
at nothing—from stealing postage stamps to murder. In his 
little room at Kimberley, Smith planned. His plans perfected, 
he sent out his instructions, and a man was killed in Cape 
Town, or a rebellion staged in Mashonaland; a rich and prom¬ 
inent man was blackmailed in Jo’burg, or a chief’s son in 
Bechuanaland was abducted and sent to work in the mines. 
Smith had a wonderful organization; none of his creatures 
ever thought of questioning his commands, and he carried his 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


139 


criminal efficiency to the extent of receiving, and filing, reports 
of jobs done by his operatives. A man who was rated A.i in 
Smith’s Blue Book belonged to the aristocracy of crime. 

The two men from the west were rated C minus; the third* 
the man from the north, a plus B. 

The fourth man was the Major. He was in the Big Man’s 
service, following up a chance clue—which might lead to noth* 
ing—given him by Colonel Hammond. 

He reached the outskirts of Speysburg about noon and, after 
telling Jim to outspan the mules and make camp in the shade 
of some nearby trees, rode up to the hotel, tied his horse to the 
hitching-rack and entered. 

The barroom was empty, save for the barmaid, and her eyes 
opened with amazement. Men, perfectly tailored and sport¬ 
ing monocles, were not common in Speysburg. 

“O my gawd!” she exclaimed breathlessly. 

He looked at her blankly. “Can you tell me where I’ll find 
Mr. Jones?” he asked. “He’s the constable here, I be¬ 
lieve.” 

“What do you want with old Snorter?” 

“He’s an old chum of my boyhood days. We used to rob 
the flowers of their honey together.” 

“Ow! You’re just makin’ fun of me. Old Snorter’s over 
fifty-five, and you can’t be no more than thirty.” 

The Major sighed. “You flatter me—really. But where 
will I find him?” 

“You won’t. Won’t find him I mean. Not until sundown 
or thereabouts. He went out to arrest a few niggers—or so 
he said. But, bless you, old Snorter wouldn’t arrest a fly. 
He’s too tender ’earted. But he’ll be back by sundown. He’s 
never late for skoff, and he eats then.” 

“But still I don’t know where to find him.” 

The girl tossed her head, then hastily gabbled off directions 
for getting to the police quarters. 

“Thank you,” the Major said when she paused for breath. 
“I’ll have no difficulty in finding the place, I’m sure. And 


140 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

now, if you’ll give me a ‘local’ I’ll sit me down at one of these 
chatty little tables, and wait.” 

He took the beer she poured out for him, and sat down at a 
nearby table. Then one of the men from the west entered. 

“Me name’s Joe Timons, ducky,” he said to the barmaid by 
way of introduction, and with the air of a man who is confi¬ 
dent of his ability to charm. “ ’Oundsditch Joe, or just plain 
Joe, me friends calls me. And what’s yours?” 

Before she could answer, Timons’s roving eyes fell on the 
Major. 

“S’help me!” he ejaculated. “If that ain’t me good friend, 
Percy Algernon Montagu!” 

Hand outstretched, he rushed toward the Major, who looked 
at him, yet seemed not to see him. 

Joe stopped at the Major’s table. 

“Ain’t you goin’ ter shake ’ands with me?” he asked. Then, 
receiving no reply, he turned back to the bar and, winking 
knowingly at the barmaid, ordered a brandy and soda. 

“Who’s the dude?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “He’s a 
fair out and outer, ain’t he?” 

“He knows how a lady should be treated, and that’s more 
than some knows,” came the retort. 

Timons sipped his drink slowly, with much smacking of 
lips and sucking of his sandy, unkempt moustache. Joe Tim¬ 
ons was thinking. 

He knew the dude was the Major, and he was trying to re¬ 
call what Whispering Smith, in his inner sanctum at Kim¬ 
berley, had said about the Major. 

He finished his drink with a gulp, replenished his glass, and 
retired with it to a table just behind the Major. The effort 
of thinking seemed to be a great strain on him; his forehead 
was lined with deep wrinkles. 

Suddenly his face cleared; suddenly he remembered. 

“The Major,” Smith had said, “is perhaps the clever man 
the police say he is. On the other hand, he may be a fool. I 
think he’s a fool dude who has had a lot of good luck. But, 


Hi 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

slim or fool, you’re to get him, if you ever meet up with him. 
See? He’s blundered on to one or two of my affairs several 
times, so I want him. See? And mind you don’t take any 
chances with his blasted luck. Play safe, but sure.” 

’Oundsditch Joe rose to his feet—he was big and ungainly— 
and started for the door. As he passed the Major he stumbled 
awkwardly against that immaculate one’s foot, and would have 
fallen to the ground, had he not grabbed the Major’s coat. 

He quickly recovered himself, and growled, “Why in ’ell 
don’t you keep your feet to yourself?” Then he passed out, 
ignoring the Major’s confused apologies. Once outside of the 
hotel Joe scribbled a message on a page torn from his note¬ 
book and, hailing a native who was loafing against the side of 
the building, gave him the paper and told him to take it to 
the policeman—Snorter Jones. 

That done, he mounted his horse and rode down the dusty 
street until he came to a large, galvanized iron building—-origin¬ 
ally intended for a customs warehouse. The large sliding 
doors were secured by massive padlocks. Timons had keys to 
fit, and, after a furtive glance up and down the street, he 
unlocked the padlocks, pushed back the doors, and entered. 
Then he closed the doors again. 

Shortly after Timons had left the hotel, “Tubby” Savage, 
the other man from the west, entered. 

His recognition of the Major was slower than Timons’s had 
been, but his remembrance of Smith’s orders came to him in¬ 
stantaneously with the recognition. 

The Major seemed to be asleep. He lolled back in his 
chair, his mouth was wide open, and he snored loudly—the 
snore of a man who has drunk well, but not wisely. 

Savage—his rate in Smith’s book was a doubtful C—found 
a pretext to send the girl out of the bar; the cigars she had on 
hand were not good enough for him. 

When she returned, a few minutes later, he had apparently 
not moved from his lounging attitude at the bar. But, for all 
his big bulk, Savage was as light as a cat on his feet and, in the 


142 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

brief period of the barmaid’s absence, he had crossed to the 
Major’s table, and his fat, stubby fingers had flickered for a 
moment about the Major’s body. 

He took a handful of cigars from the new box Mabel had 
brought, threw a gold coin on the bar with a lordly air, and 
hurried out. 

Once outside, he, too, stopped long enough to inquire the 
location of police headquarters and, learning from a passing 
white farmer that the policeman was out of town, hastily in¬ 
dited a note which he gave to the farmer, then hurried down 
the street. 

Coming to the galvanized iron warehouse he peered through 
the narrow aperture between the sliding doors which Timons 
had not closed properly. Timons seemed to be busily engaged 
in knocking crates together. 

“Let him do the work,” he muttered. “I’m not going in 
there until I have to. It must be as hot as a bloody oven.” 

He walked on quickly down the street, mopping his red face 
continually with a large, much soiled handkerchief. Soon he 
came to Big Tim’s blacksmith shop, where he had left his 
horse to be shod. Opposite the shop was a grass lean-to, and 
in the shade of that he rested—and snored. 

It was nearly sunset when the man with the plus B rating 
entered the hotel. The barroom was still empty, save for the 
Major and the barmaid. Real business at the hotel did not 
start until an hour or so later. 

This man, “Sneak” Saunders—the name fitted him, but it 
was not so apt as his native name which meant, “He roars like 
a lion; but his tail’s between his legs!”—recognized the Major 
at once, and at once remembered Smith’s instructions concern¬ 
ing him. 

He affected not to notice the Major at first, but loudly 
questioned the girl as to the likelihood of being permitted by 
the proprietor to run a “Crown and Anchor” game in the bar 
evenings. 

The Major listened to the discussion with a grin. “The 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


143 


luck’s running high,” he murmured, “and it’s running in threes. 
Time for me to unload before the majesty of the law 
appears.” 

Aloud he said, “Why wait until the shades of night fall, old 
top? Can’t we have a game now? I’m frightfully bored. 
Don’t know why I came to this beastly hole. But I set out 
to hunt the wily denizens of the wild to-morrow—and then 
everything will be all right.” 

The man—he was rat-faced and sallow-skinned, but he had 
the air of a man who is veld-wise; he was no city-dwelling 
greenhorn as were the other two—turned quickly. 

“Yes—er-” He appeared to hesitate. “Yes; I’ll give 

you a game. Poker or nap or-” 

“Let it be nap, old dear,” the Major drawled. “It sounds 
so deuced appropriate to this blinkin’ place. But how about 
cards? The bar-lady perhaps will oblige?” 

“I have a pack here,” Sneak said hastily, and produced a 
greasy pack from his pocket. “Always carry ’em with me— 
play solitaire a lot on the veld. Keeps a man from going off 
his chump with loneliness.” 

“You’re quite a wonder,” the Major commented admiringly. 
“I suppose you are quite attached to those cards, in a manner 
of speakin’. Or perhaps you have nothing but contempt for 
them. The contempt, you know, which comes from gross— 
that’s such a descriptive word—familiarity.” 

“Are you trying to insinuate something?” Sneak said hotly. 
“Because, if you are-” His gesture was threatening. 

“Oh, dear no,” the Major protested. “Insinuate—why 
what would I insinuate?” 

“No offense taken.” Sneak was somewhat mollified, but 
eyed the Major suspiciously. “Well, let’s play.” He riffled 
the cards. “Any limit?” 

“The blue, blue sky, my hearty. The sky—that’s all.” 

Sneak dealt the cards—five each—and the two played the 
game, which is a devitalized, emasculated version of poker. It 
is shorn of all the skill, the excitement, the everything which 


144 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


makes poker the game it is. Still a lot of money can be won, 
and lost, at nap. 

At first the Major won steadily, won until he had one hun¬ 
dred pounds, mostly in banknotes, of Sneak’s money crammed 
in his pockets. He seemed to be intoxicated by his luck and 
poked fun at Sneak—threatening to take that man’s shirt from 
his back, the shoes from his feet. 

And then the luck turned; the Major lost as consistently as 
he had previously won. He lost all restraint and plunged 
madly. He doubled and redoubled his stakes—and lost; he 
doubled and redoubled, again and again—and lost. 

“I’m absolutely stony,” he said after a while. “You have 
cleaned me out to the uttermost farthing.” 

“Don’t be a squealer,” Sneak sneered. “You’ve got a shirt 
there I’d like to wear, and riding breeches and polo boots. 
Come on; let’s play.” 

The Major shook his head. “Can’t do that, really. You 
wouldn’t want me to appear breechless and shirtless—surely?” 

“Then good day to you.” Sneak rose from his chair. 

“Wait!” The Major caught at his coat. “Give me an¬ 
other chance. You’re not going to keep that money, are you? 
I thought we were just playin’ for the sport of it. I didn’t 
know you were playin’ for keeps.” 

Sneak laughed, and, pushing up his eyelid with a long, 
nicotine-stained forefinger, asked, “See any green?” 

The Major looked somewhat confused. “I am an ass, don’t 
you think? Of course I should have known better than to 
try to work that ancient wheeze on you; and it wasn’t very 
sportsmanlike of me, either. But the fact is, I’m desperate. 
I had no business to gamble with that money; you see—er— 
most of it wasn’t mine. It belonged to a—er—friend. Lend 
me a tenner, old man, will you, and let’s play some more. 
Perhaps I can win some of it back.” 

Sneak smiled sardonically. 

“What security will you give me if I loan you a tenner?” 

“Security? Oh, yes, I see. How about this?” 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 145 

“This” was a small, uncut diamond which he held out be¬ 
tween thumb and forefinger toward Sneak. 

“Give you for that? You mean what will you give me not 
to tell the bobby about it. You’re an I. D. B.” 

“Oh, no,” the Major cried in alarm. “Nothing like that. 
Please don’t misunderstand me. This was given to me by a 
friend of mine.” 

“All right. I’ll give you ten pounds for it. That’s twice 
what it’s worth.” 

“Ten pounds!” echoed the Major in awed tones. “Is it 
really worth as much as that? But you’re on. Here’s the 
stone. Give me the filthy lucre. Ah—and one, yes, I think 
one, card.” 

Five minutes later the Major was penniless again. 

He tried to borrow money from Sneak and, not meeting 
with success, gloomily left the barroom, mounted his horse, 
and rode up the winding, dusty street. 

Coming to a little group of round, thatched huts which 
comprised the quarters of Trooper Snorter Jones and the na¬ 
tive constabulary, he dismounted and, handing his horse to an 
orderly, he entered the largest hut. 

Snorter—he was a bald-headed little runt of a man who 
could hold his own with bigger and heavier men—half rose 
from his seat, and was about to give 
expression of joyful greetings. Then 
he seemed to change his mind, seated 
himself and attacked a ham bone 
with savage vigour. 

“Ha there, old top,” the Major 
said cheerfully. 

Snorter scowled and, ignoring the 
Major’s greeting, asked, “What are 
you doing here, you dolled-up dude? 

Not but what I’m not glad to see 
you. I am. Your coming here saves me the trouble of going 
after you.” 



146 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

“And you were intending to come—er—after me?” 

“Yes. Soon as I’d finished skoff. Just returned—ugh!— 
from a long trip in this blasted heat. Thought I had a snorting 
case. Man reported witchcraft monkey-shines down the river; 
said the niggers were throwing human sacrifices to the crocs.” 

“And they weren’t, I take it?” 

“You take it right. No such luck for me. It was only 
that old Kawiti—he’s just been converted—had decided that 
all his people were heading for the snorting devil, so he ordered 
them all to gather at the river so’s he could baptize ’em. He 
ducked ’em all himself, and trusted to the Lord to take care 
of the crocodiles.” 

“Well?” 

“The Lord didn’t; that’s all,” the trooper replied laconically. 

His attention seemed to be riveted on his foot; actually, he 
was watching the Major very closely. 

“So you were coming after me, eh?” The Major reverted 
to the original line of discussion. 

“Yah! Soon as I’d finished skoff. Duty before pleasure I 
always say. And it’s my duty to eat when I’m hungry.” 

“And it’d be a pleasure to arrest me, eh?” 

“You know blamed well it would be—in a way that is, and 
if everything was on the square. It ’ud probably mean a 
promotion. But at that,” he sighed, “I’d hate to do it. But 
I will—as soon as I’ve finished this.” He indicated the table. 
“That is, if you’re still here.” 

“I’ll be here all right. Listen, Snorty. Do you know that 
there are a lot of bad men in this peaceful town of yours?” 

“I’m a-lookin’ at one, right now.” 

“No, really—no joshing. A lot of bad men about, I repeat. 
You ought to do something about it. Don’t you represent the 
majesty of the law, and all that? Well, why don’t you make 
this place safe for an innocent chap like me? Here I was sit¬ 
ting in the hotel, having a quiet little drink, when in comes a 
rough-looking guy who insulted me. And ’pon my soul I 
didn’r even know the man to nod to, in a manner of speaking. 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


147 


Then, when he saw that I was giving him the stony stare, he 
knocked into me—it was most upsetting. After he had left 
the place I discovered some Bank of England notes—only I’m 
positive they never saw the dear old bank—in my vest pocket. 
Imagine that! The beast put counterfeit notes in my pocket. 
I wonder why?” 

“Must have had it in for you.” 

The Major let his monocle fall into his hand. He polished 
it absently and replaced it. 

“Bah Jove!” he exclaimed finally. “That had never oc¬ 
curred to me. But what am I to do about it?” 

“When IVe finished supper I’m going to search you, and if 
I find the notes, I’ll have to lock you up. You’ll find some 
matches in the table drawer over there. It’s getting chilly. 
Suppose you light a fire in the brazier. Just a few scraps of 
paper’ll take the dampness out of the air.” 

The Major smiled. 

“You’re an old fraud, Snorty. It’s hotter than Hades. 
But listen to the rest of my complaint. Shortly after this 
johnny left, another chap came in. Had I been awake I 
would have known him, I think. Met him in Kimberley once. 
Well, this chap, seeing I was asleep, put a small stone in my 
hip-pocket—and I can’t burn a diamond, Snorty,” he added 
quickly. 

Jones wiped his sticky fingers on his trousers, rose from his 
chair, hesitated, then resumed his seat and picked up his fork 
again. 

“I had a note about that, too,” he muttered. “Thought it 
was damned funny, two complaints like that coming in, and 
both unsigned. Course they tried to frame you or”—his 
brows knit in sudden doubt—“you’re telling me all this just 
to throw me off the scent.” 

“You ought to know me better than that, Snorty. But I’m 
not finished yet. Just before sun-down another chap came in, 
and inveigled me into a card game. At first I won quite a lot; 
then he began to win. But he cheated, Snorty, and so I 


1 4 8 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

paid my losses with the counterfeit notes the first chap had 
stuffed in my pocket. That was strictly honorable, wasn’t it? 
And when he cleaned me out of those, I sold him the diamond 
for ten quid, and let him win that.” 

Strangled sounds came from Snorty. He seemed to be 
choking; he was red in the face. 

The Major patted him violently on the back, and the police¬ 
man jumped out of his chair with a yell. 

“You blamed fool,” he cried. “What did you do that for?” 

“Thought you were choking.” 

“Choking—hell. I was laughing.” 

“I don’t see anything to laugh at, and I think that you, a 
policeman, guardian of public morals and all that, ought to 
take the matter more seriously. If you only cried, Snorty, 
I’d be much better pleased. But you see, don’t you,” he con¬ 
tinued sternly, “how dangerous it is for an innocent man like 
myself to be alone, unprotected, without friends, in a wicked 
town like this.” 

“Yes—very dangerous for the others. Tell me, how much 
did you make on this three-cornered deal?” 

“Just the money I won at cards. At the beginning, when I 
was winning, I tucked the notes Mr. Red-head lost to me 
safely away. Then, when I began to lose, I played with the 
counterfeit money; didn’t touch the other at all. Red-head 
didn’t know anything about that. Oh—I suppose I cleared 
about one hundred quid.” 

The policeman went off into another spasm of choking, of 
gurgling laughter, and only ceased when the Major threatened 
to throw a jugful of beer over him. 

“Well, what do you want me to do, Major?” he gasped. 

The Major chuckled. “If it’s all the same to you, old top, 
I’d just as soon have you forget this little affair. After all 
I’m square with the Unholy Three and—oh, what’s the use of 
making trouble for oneself ?” 

“All right, if that’s the way you feel about it. But I did 
want to arrest some one before I died.” 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


149 


“Is there any one in the lock-up?” 

“No—unless they’re full up at the hotel. They use it as a 
sort of overflow accommodation.” 

“Well, if there’s any one in it to-night I want you to turn 
them out on the cruel world.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m going to stay there.” 

“Why?” 

“Wish you weren’t so beastly inquisitive, Snorty. Don’t 
you see its the only place I’ll be safe? First thing you know 
I’ll be committing murder—or one of these johnnies will be 
doing it in my name—and I can’t palm a thing like murder 
off on any one.” 

“I can’t arrest you, you ain’t done nothing.” 

The Major reached over and taking a tin plate from the 
table threw it in the air. Two reports sounded, and the plate 
fell to the ground—pierced by two bullets. 

The Major put his revolver back in its holster and drawled. 
“That’s malicious damage to property, Sergeant.” 

“That’s damned quick shooting! But you’re'right. ‘Mal¬ 
icious damage to property.’ ” 

He rose slowly and placed his right hand on the Major’s 
shoulder. 

“I arrest you,” he intoned, “for malicious damage to prop¬ 
erty and—I haven’t done this for a long time. How does it 
go, now?” 

“And I warn you,” prompted the Major. 

“Ah, yes. Pity you don’t join the force, Major. You’d 
make a snorting good policeman. And I warn you that any¬ 
thing you say’ll be used as evidence against you. 

“There,” he concluded triumphantly. “I did a good job. 
I’ll take you over to the trunk later on. Have you had 
skoff?” 

“No. And I’m blamed hungry.” 

“Then why didn’t you say so before? Sit down and eat.” 

About an hour or so later the policeman escorted the Major 


150 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

to the stone jail which, for some inexplicable reason, was lo¬ 
cated on the other side of the town. 

As they passed the hotel Jones and his handcuffed prisoner 
were observed by three men who were lounging against the 
veranda rail. 

And the three smiled maliciously. Each one acted as if he 
had done something he was proud of; something which made 
him infinitely superior to the others. There was a smug ex¬ 
pression on the face of each. 

“I heard the cop call him ‘Major,’ ” said one. “And he’s 
handcuffed. He must be a fool to let that geezer nab him. 
Wonder what he’s done?” 

The other two shared the speaker’s innocent wonder. 

“The moon’s been up half an hour,” said the man with fla¬ 
ming red hair. “We ought to be moving. No sense in hang¬ 
ing on here any longer. The sooner we’re over the border the 
safer I’ll feel. Across the border we can loaf all we want to.” 

“I suppose your advice is good, Red, but ’ow I ’ate the 
thought o’ trekking again. Smith ’ad no business to send me 
on a deal like this. Why don’t you let me stay be’ind, Red? 
I won’t be any good on the veld, there, and if I stays ’ere I 
could pass off a lot o’ the slippery stuff. I’ll go ’alves with 
you.” 

“Stow your gab, Joe. The boss said you was to go—and 
you go.” 

“The Major’s camp is pitched south of the town,” the third 
man commented mildly, “and they say he always travels in soft 
style.” 

“We’ll have a look-see. We go that way.” 

“I was just about to suggest that.” 

The three moved off, and half an hour later a light wagon, 
heavily laden, drawn by eight mules, travelled swiftly out of 
the town. 

Meanwhile the policeman and the Major had arrived at the 
jail. 

“I sleep here myself,” said the policeman as he ushered the 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


151 

Major into the small, neat cell, “when it’s snorting hot. It’s 
cooler than the huts. There’s a good bed, and a lamp and 
some books. If you want anything that’s not here—just walk 
out and get it.” 

“How can I, my good man, when I’m locked in?” 

“You don’t want to be locked in—surely?” 

“Of course. Else where’s my alibi if a murder’s committed? 
Yes; you lock me up, and make sure that I can’t get out—or 
any one get in.” 

Jones chuckled. 

“That’s easy. Sure you mean it? All right, then. I’ll be 
up around skoff time to-morrow morning to let you out. You’ll 
eat with me? Good-night, Major! I’d like to stay and have 
a chat with you, but I promised to go out and play cards with 
the gang at the Lonely Mine to-night.” 

“That’s all right, old man. Plenty of time for a good talk 
to-morrow. Trot along.” 

Jones swung the big, iron door to, locked it, shouted a final 
“Good-night!” closed and locked the outer door with much 
ostentation, and a few minutes later went quickly down the 
street—whistling shrilly. 


* * * 

“Baas, baas. Wake up.” 

At the sound of the voice the Major awoke instantly and, 
climbing on to a high stool, peered through the small, strongly- 
barred window. 

In the gray half-light of breaking day he could distinguish 
the squat, ungainly figure of his Hottentot servant. 

“What is it, Jim?” 

“The baas must come quickly!” 

“Why, Jim?” 

But Jim seemed to be shaken out of his usual phlegmatic 
calm. “What has the baas done? Why is he here? Is it 
because of the diamonds?” 

“No matter. Have you brought me from sleep to ask ques- 


152 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

tions? But your face, Jim? Have you been fighting? And 
why must I came quickly?” 

The Hottentot gently fingered the cut under his eye as if 
for the first time aware of its existence. 

“It is the baas who asks questions now,” he bantered. 

“It is the baas’s right,” the Major countered sternly. “An¬ 
swer me and without further meatless talk. Tell me all 
things I should know.” 

“First, baas, you must know that Missy Dot came to the 
tent-” 

“What? Missy Dot here, in this place?” 

“I am telling the story, baas,” Jim said reprovingly. “After 
sundown, baas, she and another white woman came riding 
across the veld to the tent. Missy Dot stopped; the other rode 
on to the dorp. Missy Dot said that she would wait for you; 
she said that there were many things that you should know. 
Au-a, baas! Missy Dot is very wise; she finds out, I think, 
what for we came to this place. And so we sat and talked of 
many things, baas. And still you did not come. Once I asked 
Missy if I should ride for you, but she would not have that. 
Darkness came and went with the rising of the moon. Still 
we waited. Then, baas, three men came to the tent, they were 
in a wagon drawn by six mules and Missy Dot, seeing them 
from afar, tried to hide in the tent. 

“They were men whose faces were evil and I feared many 
things. One of the men—his hair was like the flame of fire 
—told me that you, baas, had been taken to trunk and would 
be sent to labour on the Breakwater. 

“Then he hit me, baas, with the heavy stick he had in his 
hand. The moon went behind a cloud at that moment and I 
was wandering in darkness. 

“When life came back to me the men had gone. Gone, too, 
was the tent, the mules, the horse I sometimes ride, Miss Dot 
—everything. Not a thing was left save the gray ashes of the 
fire. There was heavy sleep in that man’s fist, baas.” 

“You say everything has gone, Jim?” 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


i53 


“Yah, baas” 

“But Miss Dot! Perhaps she rode back to the dorp” 

“No, baas. She wouldn’t do that. She would not run 
away. They have taken her.” 

“Why didn’t you come here sooner?” 

“I forgot to say, baas, that while I was in the deep sleep, 
those wicked ones bound me hand and foot so that I could not 
move. As soon as I could I freed myself, and I worked 
speedily for a hyena was watching me near by and he had the 
hunger madness.” 

The inane, almost vacuous expression vanished from the 
Major’s face. His eyes which had seemed blue and of an al¬ 
most childlike innocence, now had a glint of steel in them— 
they were cold, stern, ice-blue. The firm line of his jaw 
asserted itself; his well-shaped lips were pressed firmly to¬ 
gether and there was nothing vacillating about them. It was 
strange, too, the effect the absence of the monocle made—he 
was not wearing it now. The monocle was, in a sense, his 
disguise. It was his magic ring, the ring of invisibility. 
Wearing it, his true self seemed to disappear; a fool, a nin¬ 
compoop took possession of his body—but not of his brain. 
That, under cover, worked more keenly than ever. 

He used the monocle, too, at times, to cloak his emotions. 
No man can give way to passionate anger, or grief, or joy, 
while he is wearing a monocle. 

He roused himself; suddenly aware that Jim was tugging 
at the iron-grating. 

“What are you doing, Jim?” 

“This one’s loose, baas,” the Hottentot panted. “If the 
baas will help-” 

“The baas will not help.” 

“But the sun rises and soon it will be too late—men will 
come and take the baas away.” 

“Not so. This is but a game I play. Go to the police 
camp and tell the white policeman your baas would speak 
with him.” 


154 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Jim hastened off on his errand and the Major proceeded to 
dress himself, loudly bemoaning the absence of a mirror. 

“And,” he exclaimed in annoyed tones, “the blighters must 
have taken my razor and all the rest of my toilet kit. I won’t 
be able to shave for weeks and weeks. Not unless I get them 
back very soon. And, yes, I must do that.” 

Ten minutes later Jim returned. 

“Baas,” he panted, “the white policeman is not there, and 
the black dogs refused to give me the key to this place.” 

“What a nuisance,” he muttered in English. “Well, I 
suppose I’ll have to wait until Snorter comes.” 

He had forgotten that Snorter would not be at hand until 
eight o’clock, and all the time the three—with Dorothy—were 
getting farther away. 

“Go back to the police station, Jim,” he ordered, “and wait 
there until the white man comes, then bring him swiftly here. 
I’m going to sleep.” 

Nearly four hours later Snorter Jones put in an appearance. 

“I forgot all about you, Major,” he confessed shame¬ 
facedly as they were walking down to the police camp. “The 
boys wouldn’t let me go. They said they were out for revenge 
and, as I was winning, I had to stay. They got their revenge, 
and I got every snorting penny they had to their name. You’re 
hungry, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” the Major answered tersely. “And I’m goin’ to 
trek as soon as we’ve had skoff. I want you to get me two 
pack horses, Snorty, plenty of provisions, rifle, cartridges, 
blankets—everything, including a fast horse for Jim.” 

“Phew! What’s up?” 

“Those three bounders who bilked me yesterday have de¬ 
parted for parts unknown, and my outfit has departed with 
them.” 

He did not say anything about Dorothy fearing that Jones’s 
clumsy—though well-meaning—efforts would hinder him. 

Jones whistled. 

“They’re a bad lot, Major. You should have let me arrest 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


155 


them last night. Must have figured you wouldn’t be out of 
jail for a year or so. Probably thought I’d arrested you for 
having counterfeit money, or I. D. buying, or for bad debts.” 
The trooper chuckled softly. “The laugh is on you after all. 
Major.” 

“Perhaps so,” the Major said airily, “but is it the last 
laugh?” 

“It’ll be risky goin’ after them alone, Major. I’d come with 
you, but they’re probably heading for Portuguese Territory, 
and I’d be helpless there.” 

“I won’t be alone, Snorter. I’m taking Jim; he’s a whole 
regiment. And, anyway, risky or not, I have to go. I need a 
shave, and they have my razor. Will you get the stuff I want 
while I’m eating? Don’t want to waste any time. Better 
pack provisions for a week, and a couple of hundred cartridges.” 

“You’re snorting well right, I will. Got two horses in the 
pound—don’t know why their owners haven’t claimed ’em— 
you can have for packs. Does your nigger ride?” 

“Can a duck swim, Snorty?” 

“All right. I’ll let him have my horse. You go on in the 
mess hut”—they had reached the police camp—“and the cook- 
boy’ll see you have plenty of grub. He’ll take care of the 
Hottentot, too—he’s an ugly devil, that nigger of yours, ain’t 
he? But strong as an ox, I bet.” 

An hour later the Major, mounted on his black stallion—a 
Basutu with a leavening of Arab—galloped swiftly from the 
town. He was leading a pack horse, and Jim, on the police¬ 
man’s chestnut, followed close behind. 

* * * 

The Major and Jim were down on their hands and knees, 
their faces contorted, their cheeks swelling and collapsing 
alternately, tears running down their cheeks, desperately en¬ 
deavouring to fan the smoky, wet-wood fire into a blaze. 

This was the morning of the fourth day of their chase after 
the men who had audaciously kidnapped Dorothy, and it 


156 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

seemed that each day had brought fresh disappointments, greater 
obstacles. 

The first day out from Speysburg one of the pack-horses 
had put its foot down a hole, broken its leg and had to be shot. 

The next day the other pack-horse developed a bad case of 
staggers—no wonder its owner had not taken the trouble to 
get it out of the pound; it wasn’t worth the fee—and, despite 
Jim’s doctoring, died. 

Some of the provisions from the two pack animals were now 
carried on the riding animals, but not many. The Major was 
travelling fast and, therefore, light. 

Toward sunset of the third day—they were now well into 
Portuguese Territory—the spoor of the wagons they werfe fol¬ 
lowing, had left the rough, dirt road and headed straight across 
the bush-veld. 

The Major had been exultant, knowing that his quarry 
would have to slow up, for they could not continue at the 
breakneck speed they had evidently travelled on the road. On 
the other hand, the bush would make but little difference to the 
speed of the horsemen. 

“I fancy I’ll shave to-night, Jim,” the Major had boasted, 
“or to-morrow morning, surely. And Dorothy!” He did not 
dare think too much of Dorothy. Thought of her distorted 
his reasoning. 

But the sky had become suddenly overcast with clouds. 
White clouds which quickly changed to pearly gray, to dirty 
yellow, to inky black. They dropped lower and lower until 
they seemed so close to earth that, by stretching on tip-toe, a 
tall man could reach them; seemed so heavy, so solid, that the 
Major instinctively gasped for breath as if a heavy weight were 
crushing his chest. 

A gale of wind blew, followed by an ominous calm. 

And then, before the two men could erect a shelter of any 
sort, the rain came; an icy-cold rain in solid sheets, as if some 
gigantic vat of water had been suddenly tipped over. And 
not once during the night did it show signs of abatement- 


157 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

The Major was soaked to the skin in the first few seconds of 
the downpour—Jim had removed his scanty garments—and 
the two men spent a sleepless, dispirited night. 

Dispirited because they knew that on the morrow there 
would be no spoor to follow; that any further attempt to catch 
up wi’th the wagons would be a haphazard affair. 

Just before daybreak, the rain had slackened, then ceased 
entirely; the clouds retreated, vanished, at the challenge of the 
rising sun. The flattened bushes and long grasses straightened 
almost visibly. In a little while they would be erect; a little 
longer, and they would be dropping for want of moisture. The 
soggy, rain-saturated earth would become like baked clay, a 
spider’s web of cracks would appear—each crack a mouth 
thirsting for water. 

But now everything seemed waterlogged, and Jim had 
difficulty in making fire. 

Finally his efforts, aided by the Major’s, were successful. A 
tiny tongue of flame appeared, and licked hungrily at the scraps 
of fuel Jim carefully fed it. 

“It is well,” Jim announced presently. “Shall I make 
coffee?” 

“Yes, Jim. And open a tin of bully.” 

While the Hottentot was preparing the frugal meal, the 
Major undressed and spread his clothes—steam was already 
rising from them—on the top of a bush. It was better to 
risk sunburn than fever. That done, he sat down on a rock, 
and waited patiently for Jim to announce that the food was 
ready. 

There was a rustling noise, a breaking of twigs, a crashing 
down of small saplings in a clump of high bush near by. 

The Major picked up his rifle, released the safety catch, 
pulled out the cut-off and was ready for anything. 

Jim looked at his baas with a grin. 

“There is no need, baas,” he said. “It is only-” 

“Quiet, Jim,” whispered the Major. “Oh, what a beauty.” 

As he spoke an old bull-giraffe emerged from the thicket and. 


158 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

coming to a halt not thirty paces from the men, stretched him¬ 
self lazily. 

There was nothing ludicrous about him, rather something 
regal. It is only amid the trappings of civilization that the 
giraffe becomes an object of derision. Here he was so much 
a part of his environment one would as soon have thought of 
laughing at an elephant, a lion, or a sunset. 

Then, as if to prove that nature can be cruel as well as 
beautiful and majestic, a tawny form shot out from the tall 
grasses where it had been crouching, and leaped on the back 
of the unsuspecting giraffe. 

The lion’s spring, its suddenness and unexpectedness, 
brought the spindle-legged creature to its haunches. 

And then the Major fired. A second shot followed so 
quickly that it seemed the echo of the first. The lion slid slowly 
down to the ground, roaring feebly—a strangled, choking roar. 
Then it turned around several times as if seeking a place to 
sleep, and lay down. It shivered convulsively, then died. 

And now the giraffe, which seemed like a petrified creature, 
toppled slowly over, and did not move. 

“My first shot was too low,” murmured the Major. “It’s 
a shame, but I didn’t know Snorty’s rifle. My fault. I 
should have tried the thing out before. I feel like a bloomin’ 
murderer. I didn’t want to kill dear old long-neck.” 

But Jim had no feeling of sorrow, only elation. 

The lion was well enough—its claws and whiskers and the 
tuft of its tail would make a powerful charm—but the giraffe! 
There were a hundred and one things he could do with its skin. 

“The coffee is cooked, baas,” he said. “While the baas eats 
I will take the skin off the long-legged one.” 

Brandishing his long hunting-knife Jim ran toward the dead 
animals. 

“Have care, Jim,” the Major shouted in warning, “the lion 
may not be dead, or its mate may be at hand.” 

“The lion is dead, and if another comes, my baas has a gun 
and many cartridges.” 


159 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

The Major laughed at the Hottentot’s expression of con¬ 
fidence in him. Then, sitting so that he could see Jim and 
also have a clear view of the brush about him, he commenced 
breakfast. He was very hungry, so it may have been his at¬ 
tention momentarily wandered; at least he did not see all that 
happened. 

He had a vision of Jim clambering boy-like on to the back 
of the giraffe, shouting gleefully, and then the Major had 
looked away—to pour himself some coffee. 

“O-he, baas!” 

At the note of fear in Jim’s voice the Major looked up 
quickly in time to see the giraffe leap to its feet. Jim was on 
its back clinging tightly to its neck. 

“Jump off, Jim,” the Major shouted between laughs. 

“I—I—dare not, baas—” the fear in Jim’s voice was matched 
by the expression on his face. His black, ebony skin seemed 
to have faded to a dirty yellow; his eyes protruded from their 
sockets. 

“Jump, Jim,” the Major commanded sternly. 

“I can’t, baas,” Jim wailed. “He is mad. He will kick 
me and I shall die.” 

“See the brave warrior,” the Major said sarcastically. 
“What a story to tell the women. Why—” 

But he did not finish the sentence. The giraffe which all 
this while had been pawing the ground, and striking at the 
carcass of the lion with its fore-feet, suddenly galloped away— 
and vanished. 

A giraffe’s speed has been computed at thirty miles an hour, 
but that last vision of Jim, naked save for a breech-clout, 
clinging for dear life to the neck of his ungainly steed, was too 
much for the Major, and he laughed until he could laugh no 
more. 

“My first shot must have just creased the beast,” he gasped, 
“and he came to just as Jim was clambering over him. It 
must have given old Jim the deuce an’ all of a shock. Must 
be annoying to have an animal you are about to skin come alive. 


i6o THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Well, I’ll finish breakfast. Jim’ll be back presently. As soon 
as he’s recovered from the first shock he’ll know what to do. 
What a story to tell. But who’ll believe it?” 

The Major dressed himself, and leisurely finished his break¬ 
fast. Half an hour passed, an hour, and still no sign of Jim. 

The Major was worried now. “He may have been knocked 
off, or fallen off, and broken a leg or something,” he said. 

Quickly saddling the horses, he mounted and, leading Jim’s 
horse, swiftly followed the spoor of the giraffe. The trail in 
the rain-soaked ground was easy to follow. 

Two hours later the Major came to a thickly wooded piece 
of country, and in the outer fringes of it he saw a giraffe. That 
it was Jim’s giraffe there could be no doubt—the Major could 
see the long wounds made by the lion’s claws—but there was 
no sign of Jim. 

The Major was mystified, and rode up to the place where 
the giraffe had been standing when he first sighted it, hoping 
to find that Jim had seized the opportunity to slide off at the 
place. But, though he examined the ground all about, he 
could find no trace of Jim’s footprints. He shook his head 
doubtfully. There was something uncanny about it. 

“I’d better back-track,” he muttered. “Perhaps he dropped 
off on the way.” 

But he knew that was a false premise. He had watched the 
spoor carefully all the time, and he was too expert a trekker to 
have overlooked the imprints of Jim’s feet. 

Before turning back, however, he decided to explore still 
further into the wooded country. This decision was forced 
upon him by the condition of the horses. 

He had not spared them in his mad ride, and the coat of the 
stallion was flecked with foam, while Jim’s horse was black 
with sweat. 

He unsaddled, gave both mounts a rub down, hobbled them, 
and turned them loose to roll or graze as they saw fit. Then, 
rifle in hand, he went forward calling the Hottentot’s name 
aloud, firing several shots into the air. 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


161 


As he progressed the jungle growth became thicker, the trees 
taller, and their heavily leafed branches interlaced overhead. 

A stealthy rustling in the bush to the left of him caused him 
to swing round sharply, drawing his revolver as he did so. 
Then something hard and heavy struck him on the head, and 
he pitched forward on his face. 

* *■ * 

When he opened his eyes again, several hours later, it was to 
meet the mocking looks of ’Oundsditch Joe, Tubby Savage, and 
Sneak Saunders. 

“Where am I ?” he asked feebly. 

His head throbbed painfully, and he felt nauseated. 

“You’re in good ’ands, ducky. The three kindest men— 
to their friends—in South Africa are takin’ care o’ yer. Only, 
you ain’t their friend.” 

“That’s enough for you, Joe. Get on with your job. You, 
too, Tubby. I’ll attend to the Major.” 

The two men sullenly obeyed Sneak who, turning to the 
Major, continued. 

“Yes. You’re almighty slim, you are, Major.” His sar¬ 
casm was rather laboured. “You ought to be tied to your 
mama’s apron strings. What was the matter? Were you 
lost or just tryin’ to have a game with us.” 

“Lost?” The Major echoed. “I don’t know. I don’t 
remember. Oh yes, of course I’m lost; I mean I was lost be¬ 
fore you fellows came along and found me. You did find me, 
didn’t you?” 

“Yes; we found you all right.” 

The Major tried to rise to his feet, and discovered that his 
feet were securely bound. 

“Why am I bound like this? It’s positively ridiculous, you 
know.” 

“We were afraid you might wander off and get lost again!” 

“Kind of you I’m sure. But you’ll be kind enough to cut 
me loose now, won’t you ?” 


162 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Sneak hesitated then coming to a sudden decision, bent and 
cut the ropes; first warning the Major not to move lest Joe 
and Savage see and insist on having him bound again. 

“We’ve got your rifle and revolver, so you’re harmless, 
Major; and if you try to get away, you’ll find that a bullet’ll 
travel a damned sight faster than you can.” 

“But why should I want to leave you, dear old pal of mine? 
Here I am in the midst of plenty, so to speak, and with friends. 
No, I’m quite content to stay, I assure you.” 

“It’s as well,” Sneak said grimly. “You couldn’t travel 
far without shoes, anyway. I told you the other day I wanted 
them.” 

“I thought those boots you have on looked familiar,” the 
Major murmured, “and that my feet felt beastly naked. But 
this is monstrous. I’ll—I’ll report you to the police. I’ll 
have you arrested.” 

Sneak grinned. 

“You won’t get the chance. I don’t think you’ll ever see a 
policeman again.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“But I don’t understand, Mr.—er—I don’t know your 
name.” 

“Saunders, Sneak Saunders. Does that help any?” 

“Lots. ’Oundsditch Joe I know, and the other chap is called 
—wait, don’t tell me—Tubby Savage. Am I right?” 

“You know a hell of a lot.” 

“I want to know more, too. Oh, my head. I must have 
fallen on a rock. There’s a large bump at the back of my 
head.” 

“That was Joe. He tapped you playfully on the head with 
his revolver.” 

The Major smiled faintly. “He has a quaint sense of hu¬ 
mour, hasn’t he? Hope he hasn’t any more little jokes like 
that to play on me! But you said something about my never 
seeing a bobby again. How splendid! Where are you going 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 163 

to take me—heaven? That means I must die, I suppose”— 
the Major sighed—“and that’s not so splendid.” 

“How did you get out of jail, Major?” Sneak asked abruptly. 

“Why, Jim—he’s my servant, you know—came and told me 
all about the way you had borrowed my outfit, and, he’s very 
strong, you know, one of the bars in the cell window was 

loose, and there was no one on guard, so-” The Major’s 

shrug was very expressive. “Trouble with Jim, though,” he 
continued confidingly, “is that he couldn’t remember very much. 
The blow on the head must have knocked him blotto, what! 
The silly old ass told me a most preposterous story of you 
carrying off a beautiful white girl. He was most indignant 
when I told him that he must have been dreaming. Of course 
you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, Sneak?” 

Sneak’s leer was one of relief. 

“Can’t afford to waste time foolin’ with women,” he 
growled, “though I won’t say I wouldn’t have brought one 
along if there’d been one handy.” Then he added sharply, 
“What made you come after us?” 

The Major’s eyes opened in astonishment. “I—er—needed 
a shave, and you had my razor.” 

“You weren’t really lost, were you, Major? You were 
looking for our camp—don’t lie—weren’t you? Though how 
you picked up our trail after last night’s rain is beyond me. 
Perhaps you are not such a fool after all.” 

“Oh, but I am. A most fearful one, really. And I’m a 
frightful liar. As a matter of fact I wasn’t lost, but Jim is.” 

“A nigger lost in the bush!” Sneak’s scorn was withering. 
“Yes; you’re a liar all right.” 

“Ah, but now I’m telling the truth. You see it was like 
this: There was one of those long-necked beasts having a 
quiet little snooze, and Jim—he’s a regular daredevil, you 
know—climbed up on him. Then the giraffe jumped up and 
ran away with Jim on its back. It was most amusing, really. 
I wish you could have seen it. I laughed until my side ached. 
And I’ve been looking for Jim ever since.” 


164 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“And you expect me to believe that? I’m no fool, Major.” 

“It’s the truth, old chap. But I said at the time no one 
would ever believe it. I wouldn’t believe it myself, if I were 
in your shoes. I mean my shoes. But turn about is fair play. 
What are you doing here?” He indicated with a wave of his 
hands the crates which Joe and Savage were unloading from 
the wagon. “Going to do some mining? The crates are 
labelled, unless my eyes deceive me, ‘Machinery Parts— 
Fragile.’ But mining in this out-of-the way place doesn’t 
seem to ring true. Somehow I don’t think those crates hold 
machinery. But rifles, now? Oh yes, most certainly rifles. 
Gun-running, eh? Helping our dear black brothers to kill 
each other off more quickly; and if they wipe out a few whites 
as well that doesn’t matter. The profits are good.” 

“You’re too damned clever,” Sneak growled. “But now 
you’ve guessed that, you may as well know the rest. You 
ain’t goin’ to live very long anyway.” 

“You intimated as much before, old man,” the Major in¬ 
terposed sweetly. 

“Oh stow yer gab. You’ve heard of Yellow Pete?” 

“There you go asking me questions again. Yes; I’ve heard 
of that johnny. He runs amok once in awhile, doesn’t he? 
Leads quite a powerful tribe somewhere in this section, and 
wipes out all who oppose him. He’s a sweet lad, if all I’ve 
heard’s true.” 

“It’s true, all right. He’s a wicked devil. They say his 
favourite sport’s skinning men—white men—alive.” 

“Then you and your handsome comrades are safe, aren’t 
you ?” 

“You’re not,” Sneak said viciously. “He’s coming here to¬ 
night for these guns. We’ll sell him you, too.” 

“Thanks! Don’t fancy I’ll fetch much, though.” 

There was something about the Major’s smile and his 
drawling, unconcerned voice that infuriated Sneak. 

“Blast you,” he whispered fiercely. “Now listen to some¬ 
thing that’ll take that smile off your face. Your nigger was 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


165 

right. We did kidnap a girl, and brought her along with us. 
She’s an old friend of yours, she says. Her name’s Peters— 
Dorothy Peters.” 

The Major’s lips tightened; then he smiled and asked softly, 
“Well?” 

“Well! It ain’t well. Unless you do as I say I sell her 
to Yellow Pete, too.” 

“You wouldn’t do that! You—a white man.” But the 
Major was not nearly as confident as his words indicated. 
That was just the sort of thing a man like Sneak would do. 
“What do you want me to do, Sneak?” 

“Help me to put Joe and Tubby out of the way. They’re 
too damned careful for me to handle alone and, beside, I want 
help in handling Yellow Pete.” 

“Of course I don’t believe you’ve got a girl here!” 

“Well, I have. She’s tied up, gagged, and lying at the 
bottom of that wagon. What say? You coming in with me? 
It’ll be a big haul, and we’ll divvy up between us. Yellow 
Pete’s crazy to get hold of a bunch of rifles; he’ll give his 
soul for them—and he’s got hundreds of diamonds, his niggers 
have brought back from the mines. He’ll pay us with stones 
as many as we ask for.” 

“Um!” The Major seemed to be turning the proposition 
over in his mind. “But if that’s the way you treat old friends, 
how would you treat me?” 

“They ain’t old friends, Major. I never saw them before 
I came to Speysburg, four days ago.” 

“That sounds a bit thin—if you’ll forgive me. Here you 
are partners in a dangerous piece of work and yet-” 

“We are all Smith’s men—Whispering Smith. He planned 
this thing. I got word from him to come to Speysburg where 
I would meet the other two men. He had everything planned; 
he’d been storing guns in the old freight house for months— 
three or four at a time. All we had to do was pack ’em up. 
Smith said I was to be leader, and God knows why he sent 
the other two—unless he expects me to put ’em out of the 


166 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

way. They’re fools and, besides, I think they’re planning to 
do for me.” 

“Beastly cads.” The Major fished in his pocket for his 
monocle, extracted it, polished it and fixed it firmly in place. 

This was a danger sign, had Sneak but known it. 

“Well, what do you say?” Sneak growled impatiently. 

“What do I say? Why I say—I need a shave, very badly. 
Get me my razor, there’s a good chap.” 

Sneak cursed. 

“You know your choice, Major. Come in with me, or—” 

“You might bring my soap and shaving brush, too.” 

“Don’t be a fool, Major.” 

“And hot water and a clean towel.” 

Sneak walked angrily away, and started to unpack the 
cases. In this he was aided by Joe and Tubby, and very soon 
one hundred rifles were stacked in neat rows on the ground— 
also a large box of cartridges. 

Their work finished Tubby and ’Oundsditch Joe climbed up 
into their wagon—the Major’s—and, opening some tinned 
foods, commenced to eat. As they did so they carried on a 
whispered conversation, watching Sneak furtively. 

Sneak went to the other wagon and, sitting down in its 
shade, moodily chewed on a piece of biltong. His eyes never 
left the other two, and his hand hovered continually about his 
revolver butt. 

The Major sat up, and with the quick eye of the trained 
observer took in the geography of the camp and its surround¬ 
ings. They were in a deep depression—the crater, probably, 
of some long extinct volcano—the steeply sloping sides of which 
were covered with large cacti. At the eastern end, where the 
slope was more gradual, there seemed to be a well-defined trail. 
It was the sort of place that a man would only find if he knew 
exactly where to look for it, or stumbled upon it by accident. 
And the Major knew that there was very little likelihood of 
any one doing that. He was in a hole, and there seemed no 
way out. 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


167 


He thought of making a dash for the rifles, but at once dis¬ 
carded the thought. Even if he got safely to them—and they 
were thirty or forty feet away—he would still have to open 
the case to get at the cartridges. And in the meantime- 

Still it irked him to give up without a struggle. Perhaps 
his best plan would be to go in with Sneak or, at least, appear 
to. He knew that he could expect no mercy at the hands of 
the half-caste, Yellow Pete. 

“But where’s Jim?” he muttered. “I hope the dear old 
chap’s safe. I can’t imagine what’s become of him. Why did 
I laugh at him when he rode off on the giraffe? Perhaps I 
hurt his feelin’s, and he’s hiding somewhere in order to punish 
me. But that’s not like him—and he really was funny.” 

At the memory the Major laughed aloud. 

“What do you find so damned funny, Major?” 

He looked up to find Sneak standing over him. “I was just 
thinkin’ how surprised you’d be when Jim comes here with the 
soldiers.” 

“What?” 

“I sent him, you know, to the Portuguese garrison as soon as 
I discovered where you’d camped. They ought to be here 
about the same time Yellow Pete arrives. It’ll be a nice little 
surprise party all around, won’t it?” 

Sneak seemed to be taken aback, but only for a moment. 

“You’re a liar, Major,” he said tersely. “There ain’t no 
Portuguese post within a hundred miles or more of this place.” 

“All right; have it your own way.” 

“Sneak!” Joe’s cockney twang cut the air. 

“Well?” Sneak growled. 

“Me an’ Tubby ’ere don’t like the way you’re gettin’ pally 
with the Major. Keep away from ’im, or I’ll blow yer bleed- 
in’ brains out.” 

“You will, will you.” Sneak’s voice was hoarse with anger. 
“Why you little rat, I’ll-” 

His hands leaped to his revolver, but, seeing that Savage 
had him covered, let it fall empty to his side. 


i68 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“All right, boys,” he said smoothly. “Eve got nothing to 
say to the Major that I don’t want you to hear. I don’t want 
to talk to the bloomin’ dude. Tie him up again, Joe, if you’re 
a mind to. I don’t care. Only remember this when you get 
to talking of blowin’ my brains out: You’ll need them brains 
to get you out of this place. You’d never find the road alone.” 

The two men whispered together, then Savage returned his 
revolver to its holster, and he and Joe climbed down from the 
wagon. 

“We’re willin’ to cry quits,” Joe said, “but we’re goin’ to 
tie up the Major ourselves.” 

All this time Sneak had his back turned to the Major, and 
was between that man and the other two. 

It was an opportunity the Major was not the man to miss. 
With a cat-like spring he leaped upon Sneak, and disarmed him 
before the other two knew what was going on. 

“Hands up,” he cried. “All of you.” 

So quick, so unexpected was his attack that it was successful. 

Cowards at heart, Savage and Joe made no attempt to show 
fight—besides Sneak formed an effective shield for the Major 
—and quickly put up their hands. 

“You, too, Sneak.” 

And Sneak, too, reached skyward. 

The Major lined them up in a row and, making them turn 
their backs to him, quickly disarmed them. 

“ ’Pon my soul,” he drawled, “I don’t know what to do 
with you.” His monocle was in place again; he had removed 
it before springing on Sneak. “There are a lot of things I’d 
like to do, but—No Joe, don’t swear, there’s a good boy. If 
you do I’ll have to imitate your merry little game.” 

He lightly tapped the cockney on the head with the barrel 
of his revolver. 

“Now don’t talk—any of you—I want to think. And please 
continue to hold that graceful, sun-worshipping pose. It’s 
priceless.” 

He moved gingerly—for the ground was hot and he was 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 169 

bootless—toward a small boulder, intending to sit on it while 
formulating some plan. 

Then—and it is the little things which count—he stubbed 
his toe on a sharp piece of rock, and almost lost his balance. 
His monocle fell from his eye and, in his frantic efforts to 
save it, he lowered his revolver. For a moment he was off 
guard, and in that moment the three men—they had been 
squinting over their shoulders—turned as one man, and leaped 
on him. 

The struggle which followed was furious, but brief. In a 
little while the Major was lashed securely to a wagon wheel, 
listening to the three revile each other—and him. 

“To think,” he said sorrowfully when lack of breath brought 
a temporary cessation to their cursing, “my best friend should 
play me false. If I had let the monocle go, I’d be going at this 
moment.” 

“Well, yer can say yer prayers, Major,” Joe panted. “ ’Ere 
comes Yeller Pete.” 

All looked in the direction of the trail, and watched in 
silence the approach of a party of natives headed by one dressed 



in the regalia of a witch-doctor. His face was hidden by a 
hideous mask. 

“Get your rifles and revolver and see you’ve plenty of am¬ 
munition,” Sneak ordered. “We’ll have to watch Pete pretty 
close.” 

“All right. Get it over quick, Sneak. The sooner I’m out 
o’ here the better I’ll like it.” 






170 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Yus! Hand don’t forget, Sneak, to do all the talking in 
Henglish. Understand?” 

Sneak scowled then whispered quickly to the Major, “Wha’ 
d’ you say? It’s not too late, yet.” 

But the Major did not reply. He was watching the ap¬ 
proaching warriors, and seemed specially interested in the 
witch-doctor. 

When the natives were within one hundred feet of the camp 
Sneak shouted in English, “Is that you, Pete?” and receiving 
no answer, repeated the question in the vernacular. 

Now the answer came readily. 

“Nay. He is behind us. He will be here by sundown. 
Us he sent to clear a path for him.” 

“It’s all right,” Sneak said in answer to the inquiring look 
of Joe and Tubby. “They’re just an advance guard. They 
won’t start anything, and neither will Yellow Pete the way 
I’ll handle him. Go get some gin and give these niggers.” 

A few minutes later the natives were squatting on their 
haunches about the wagon, drinking from the bottles the 
white men gave them. 

The witch-doctor, seeing the Major lashed to the wheel, 
seemed to be greatly excited and asked Sneak many questions. 

“He says,” Sneak interpreted, “that Yellow Pete will give us 
a lot for the Major. Need him to sacrifice—guess he means to 
torture him. They’re bloodthirsty devils, ain’t they?” 

And now the natives seemed to be inflamed by the gin, and, 
as one man, they rose to their feet, and danced a grotesque 
movement—symbolical of bloody tortures. 

“I don’t ’arf like this,” Joe muttered. 

“Don’t show ’em you’re scared,” Sneak said sternly. 

“I am, and I don’t care who knows it,” said Savage. 

And then, as if in response to some prearranged signal the 
warriors pounced upon the three white men, and trussed them 
up securely. 

That done, the witch-doctor cut loose the Major. 

He, oblivious to the sharp stones which cut his feet, ran to 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


171 

the wagon, climbed into it and with a hoarse cry of joy cut the 
ropes which bound the girl who was lying helpless on a pile 
of dirty blankets. Her eyes thanked him before he had got 
the gag out of her mouth and when that was done and he had 
gently raised her up in his arms, she murmured softly, 

“I knew you would come, Major!” 

“My dear, my dear,” was all he could say for a time. And 
then, anxiously, “You are quite all right?” She nodded, 
understanding him fully. His laugh of relief was a little 
strained. 

He placed her tenderly on the wagon-seat. “You’ll be all 
right here for a little while. I must go to Jim and finish 
this.” 

Whistling happily, the Major climbed down from the 
wagon and joined the witch-doctor. 

“Great, Jim, old top!” He said. “Have a nice ride?” 

The witch-doctor snatched off his mask; there was an ex¬ 
pression of intense disgust on his face. 

“Then the baas knew? But how?” 

The Major chuckled. “A lion once wore an ostrich skin 
and said, ‘No man shall know me.’ But when he walked 
abroad all men said, ‘There walks a lion.’ ” 

Jim looked crestfallen, then asked, “Is the baas well? Is 
Missy Dot well?” 

“All well, Jim.” 

“Is there anything the baas wants?” 

“Boots, Jim. The red head has them.” 

With no gentle hands, Jim removed the boots from Sneak’s 
feet, and gave them to the Major. 

“Thanks, Jim. But who are those fellows? Yellow Pete’s 
men?” 

“Nay. They are my servants,” Jim answered proudly. 
“They call me lord.” 

“Then bid your servants—who call you lord—to inspan 
my mules in my wagon. Tell them, also, to load these on to 
the wagon.” He indicated the rifles and cartridges. “Bid 


172 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

them hasten and, while they are working, tell me every¬ 
thing” 

Jim shouted his commands to the natives. “An’ be damn 
quick,” he added in English. “By golly, O dear no.” 

“Aye, lord,” they shouted, and the Major wondered at the 
respectful fear in their voices. 

“Now, Jim.” 

“There is not much to tell, baas. This morning I decided 
to go for a ride on the long-necked one,” he looked quickly at 
the Major whose face was very grave, “and he travelled fast 
until he came to a place where the trees grow thick. And 
there, having ridden far enough, I caught hold of one of the 
branches, and let the giraffe pass from under me. Then I 
pulled myself on the branch to rest awhile, and lo, beside me 
was one of those dogs.” He waved a hand airily in the direc¬ 
tion of the hard-working natives. “He recognized, baas, my 
power over animals and called me lord—had he not seen me 
riding on the back of the giraffe?—and bade me go with him. 
And, because I thought he would show me things you would 
have me see, I followed where he led. 

“We travelled on the tops of trees, baas, never touching 
ground. He did not want to leave spoor, he said. After a 
long time we came to a large village, and there I learned many 
things—but chiefly that others had seen me riding the giraffe 
and all called me lord. They told me, baas, that the white 
men we followed were camped at this place, and that they 
were bringing guns for the man you call Yellow Pete. My 
servants hate that wicked one who had sent word that he would 
burn their village after he had got the guns from the white 
men. Without guns he dared not attack my people, for they 
are strong. And so they waited, baas, spying upon the white 
men, planning to raid them when darkness came, so that Yellow 
Pete could not get the guns. 

“And so, baas, knowing this was a matter too great for me, 
I came back with these men to the place where I had left the 
long-necked one, thinking to find you there. The sun had 


173 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 

travelled far, and I knew you would follow the spoor of the 
giraffe. And there I saw what had happened to you—the 
story was told in the spoor. So we came to this place. 

“That is all, baas.” 

“It is a lot, Jim. But where is Yellow Pete?” 

“My servants—the people who call me Lord of Animals— 
have scouts watching him. He is on the other side of the river; 
a mighty river. And the river is in flood. He cannot cross 
to-night. But see. My servants”—with each repetition of 
the word servant Jim assumed a bombastic attitude; he was 
proud of his achievement, yet somewhat afraid of being laughed 
at—“my servants,” he repeated, “have finished the tasks I set 
them.” 

It was true. The natives had worked speedily. 

The Major’s and Jim’s horses—Sneak had caught them at 
the time the Major was captured—were bridled and saddled; 
the Major’s outfit was all packed in his wagon, the mules 
inspanned. 

“It is a wonderful story, O Lord of all the Animals,” the 
Major said gravely. “At another time I will question you 
further—if it is permitted—but now we must hasten. Tell 
your servants to depart, one of them driving the wagon. We 
will follow presently.” 

Again Jim’s orders were quickly obeyed. 

“Now,” said the Major, addressing the three white men, “I 
don’t want to appear vindictive, and I’m not really. But there 
are some things which must be said. First, to your address, 
Joe: You shouldn’t put counterfeit money in an innocent 
man’s pocket, really you shouldn’t. And you, Tubby: If 
you ever have a diamond you want to get rid of, throw it in 
the river. Don’t follow Joey’s bad example. 

“As for you Sneak: I never did like a man who can carry 
cards up his sleeve; there’s something dishonest about him. 
Are you up on ethics? I’d like to know if I were guilty of 
dishonest conduct in payin’ a crooked gambler with counterfeit 
money, and a planted diamond? 


174 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“What! Didn’t you three tell each other all about your 
little plants to trap me? Really! Oh, this is too much. And 
I bet each one of you wrote to old Smithy, and told him how 
smart you were. Oh say you did—of course you did. Why 
be so modest?” 

The look on their sullen faces answered his question, and 
he rocked back and forth, roaring with laughter. 

“But to continue,” he said sobering quickly, “I could have 
forgiven everything except the beastly inconvenience you’ve 
caused me—about shaving, I mean. 

“And then—notice how big trees from little acorns grow 
—it is deuced bad form, oh very, to sell guns to a renegade 
like Yellow Pete. When small souled little toads play with 
counterfeit money, and diamonds, and cards up their sleeves— 
why, one just smiles. But when they develop into gunrunners 
—and abductors of women! Ah! That’s a giraffe with quite 
different spots. So I’m going to punish you—you’ll see how 
in a moment. 

“Tubby, I’m goin’ to loose your—er—fetters so that if you 
work industriously, you’ll be able to release yourself, and Joe, 
and Sneak—I purposely put Sneak last, and, if I were you, 
I’d untie him last—before Yellow Pete comes. 

“No thanks, please!” He held up his hands. “And most 
certainly no curses. I’m quite deaf to ’em all. 

“There! I’ll cut the ropes here and there, and loosen it 
there, and there. You have one foot almost loose, and one 
hand quite. 

“Work hard, old chap, you can guess what will happen to 
you if Yellow Pete comes and finds you trussed up—and no 
rifles or cartridges for him. As Sneak says, Yellow Pete’s 
favourite sport is skinnin’ white men alive. And, failin’ white 
men, perhaps he’d be satisfied with you. 

“So-long! Don’t curse, cultivate a placid disposition, and 
never take a man’s razor away from him again. That’s your 
major crime. 

“Come on, Dorothy; come on, Jim.” 


A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT 


175 


They mounted their horses and rode swiftly away. 

Coming to the trail leading out of the crater they pulled up 
their horses and looked back. The sun had set, but they could 
distinguish three figures struggling together. 

“Tubby worked fast,” the Major muttered. Then to Jim, 
“Are you quite sure that Yellow Pete won’t be here until 
morning?” 

“Yah, baas. The river is big with rains.” 

“Then we’ll let ’em fight it out,” and singing gaily, his 
hand on Dorothy’s bridle rein, the Major rode on. 


CHAPTER VII 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 

W HISPERING” SMITH— was in a vile temper and 
as he stalked up and down the little room which 
opened into his saloon bar, he read and re-read the 
letters he held in his hands. 

A South Africander once said that Smith reminded him of a 
tyrannical, evilly sarcastic bully of a schoolmaster whose pupils 
had a greater fear of his softly spoken innuendoes than the 
whip used as a threat. And never was the comparison so apt 
as now. 

“The dolts!” he exclaimed. “The fools!” With an im¬ 
patient gesture he brushed back the wisp of hair which had 
fallen down over his low, receding forehead. As he did so 
the dazzling sunbeams which streamed into the room through 
the one small, narrow window, were split up and reflected in 
rainbow hues by the diamond rings which covered his fingers. 
The rings were Smith’s weakness—his only deviation from the 
attire ordained by good taste. 

“The fools,” he repeated, and his accents were those of a 
cultured man, “I’m through with them. They need not come 
whining to me for protection any more.” 

The other occupant of the room, a big Dutchman, shifted 
uneasily on his feet. 

“If I ever get my hands on them,” Smith continued, speak¬ 
ing rapidly and riffling the papers with his white, well cared 
for hands, “I’ll tear their hearts out!” 

The big, slow-witted Dutchman, Piet Deemster, scratched 
176 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


177 

his head, greatly puzzled. Somehow he was afraid of this 
man with the soft voice who cursed so venomously. 

“Allemachtig!” he muttered. “I could take him up in one 

hand and throw him out on to the stoep. And yet-” He 

shook his head. “I’m glad I wrote him not those letters I 
brought him! I wonder-•” 

“What’s that, you oaf?” Smith wheeled suddenly and faced 
the ungainly, full-bearded Dutchman. “You wonder what’s 
in these letters, do you?” 

“No,” the Dutchman stammered. “I would only say I’m 
sorry they give bad news. If I can help you, Whip-” 

“You help!” Smith sneered. “You—Oh, get back to your 
kennel and don’t let me see you in the dorp again, you mon¬ 
grel!” . 

The insult penetrated the Dutchman’s thick skull and for a 
moment he seemed as if he were about to express his resent¬ 
ment but, thinking better of it, he backed slowly out of the 
room—banging the door behind him with some force, how¬ 
ever. 

Instantly, with a catlike leap, Smith sprang to the door, 
opened it and called, “Come back here, you, and close the door 
quietly.” 

Sheepishly the Dutchman obeyed and then went out into the 
street again. 

Just outside the saloon he bumped into a man as tall and 
broad as himself, and with a bellow of rage he lashed out and 
hit the stranger full between the eyes with his mighty fist, 
knocking him off his feet. Deemster—he had been known to 
knock down bullocks with similar blows—did not wait to see 
if the man would get up and show fight, but lumbered on his 
way up the street. 

Meanwhile, Smith had seated himself at his desk and was 
preparing to file the letters which had caused his outburst. 
Before adding them to the files, so explanatory of his hold over 
the criminals of South Africa, he glanced through them once 
again: 


178 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The first, an illiterate scrawl, read: 

Dear Whip: 

I was first at this bloomin’ berg. The majer was at the Hotel, 
i remembered wot yew said you wanted dun with him. I slipped 
some of the greasys into his poket. Then i rote a leter to the po- 
leeseman hear and telled him the majer had some counterfeet bank- 
nots. The bobby arested him tonite. He’ll get ten yrs for that. 

Yrs respect’ly 

Joet Timmons. 

The second letter was briefer. 


Dear Whip: 

Saw the Major here at the hotel. I framed him with a diamond 
and notified the police he was an I. D. B. He was arrested to-night 
and I don’t think he’ll trouble you for a long time. 

Savage. 

The third was a lengthy epistle. The most interesting part, 
the part which caused Smith’s mouth to tighten, read: 


The Major was staying at the hotel here and I managed to in¬ 
veigle him into a game of cards. I cleaned him out; and when he 
didn’t have any money left I gave him ten quid for a good-sized 
“stone” he had. And I won that, too, of course. The joke of it all 
is, the money he played with wasn’t his and to-night the bobby 
arrested him. Don’t know what for—something to do with the 
money, I expect. Anyway he’s done for. You were right, Boss. 
The Major’s a fool. 

Don’t think much of the two chaps you’ve told off to go with me on 
this trip—they’re greenhorns. What do you want done with them? 
Put out of the way? 

We leave here as soon as the moon’s up and I’m going to help 
myself to the Major’s camp stuff. He won’t need it where he’s going. 
Ha-ha! 

We ought to be able to deliver the guns and be on our way back 
inside a week. 

I’m sending this, as per instructions, through Piet Deemster. 

Yours, 


Saunders. 


“He’s the biggest fool of the three,” Smith muttered. “If 
he’d kept his hands off, the tricks of the other two might have 
done the job. Might have—but I think not. The Major’s 
got more brains that I’ve given him credit for. He shall have 
a file all to himself! I’ll show him that he can’t interfere with 
my plans—and remain happy!” 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


179 


He spread the fourth and last letter on the table before him 
and examined it closely. It had not come to him via Piet 
Deemster, but had been even longer en route. 

“He’s an Oxford man, judging by the scrawl,” Smith re¬ 
flected. “Wonder what he did over the other side. Some¬ 
thing big, I imagine. If all the stories they tell of him are 
true, he must have made thousands in the I. D. B. game. And 
yet he’s never been back home, and he’s going under an alias. 
I’ll set some men looking up the Major’s record. If he’s 
wanted for something on the other side, I’ll find out. And 
that’ll make things so much the easier. 

“It’s strange, now I come to think of it, that I’ve never seen 
the chap. But then, they say he hates the dorps; poses as a 
great outdoor man. Bah! We’ll see.” 

Which shows that even great minds like Smith’s would do 
better if they remembered trifles—such as green youths from 
England, sent to the Breakwater on trumped up charges. 

Smith picked up the letter again. He read it aloud and, as 
he read, a drawl crept into his voice—the drawl affected by 
Cambridge university men. Occasionally he smiled—not pleas¬ 
antly. The letter ran: 


Most dear and honoured sir: 

I’ve recently had the dubious pleasure of making the acquaintance 
of three of your business associates. They’re charming fellows—oh, 
really! And so naive. They’ve probably told you about the presents 
they wished to give me and how I, not desiring to give them offence, 
xeturned them—secretly as it were. 

And then, because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, I asked the 
well-known and mighty representative of the law to put me in 
“trunk” for the night. Your friends rather expected that, and it 
gave them no end of joy. The merry wags ran off with my camp 
kit and, of course I went after them! You understand that, don’t 
you, or you will when I add that the beggars had taken my razor 
and I needed a shave very badly. 

But most damning of all—an’ my blood absolutely boils when I 
think of it—they were cads enough to abduct a lady. You see—Miss 
p e t ers —you’ve heard of her, no doubt—was visiting a friend at 
Speysburg and, quite by chance, she stumbled on your secret cache of 
guns and, smelling a rat, and discovering that I was in the vicinity, 
came out to my camp to tell me all about it. She was there when 


i8o 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


your sprightly henchmen arrived. And they took her with them— 
by force, you know. Of course, as soon as I was released, I followed. 
I’d have done that anyway—you see I’d been asked by Colonel 
Hammond to keep my eyes open for three such men. 

I came up with them just in time to persuade them not to sell rifles 
and ammunition to a renegade native named Yellow Pete—a most 
frightful fellow. I’m sure you’ll approve of my action. It is deuced 
bad form to sell weapons to the natives, don’t you know? And, oh 
yes, to make sure your three wise laddies wouldn’t be tempted to do 
a little gun-running contrary to my well-meaning advice, I took all 
their stock away from them and sold it to Yellow Pete myself. But 
first, dear old man, I removed the firing pin from each rifle, and the 
charges from all the blinking cartridges. It was a deuce an’ all of 
a job, let me tell you. 

The last I saw of the three, they were conversing loudly, but not 
exactly amicably. Well, boys will be boys, and one can’t handle 
pitch without getting one’s hands all messy—and they all worked for 
you. That explains a deuce of a lot. 

I’ve heard a lot about you of late, Smithy, dear heart. You seem 
to be quite a little devil and I’d like awfully to know you better. 

Until then, to be quite brutal, I thumb my nose at you. 

Ta-ta, 

The Major. 


With one final devastating curse, Smith put the letter in a 
folder on which he printed in large letters: IN ACCOUNT 
WITH THE MAJOR. That done he opened his Rogues’ 
Gallery, and began looking through it. Never infringing the 
criminal code himself, like a spider in the midst of an enormous 
web, Smith sat in the office of his Kimberley saloon and waited 
for things to come his way. The newspapers of the world—he 
was an accomplished linguist—were his threads 6f information; 
and almost daily he read of a potential victim who would re¬ 
spond to his invitation couched in true Mother Goose spider 
style. 

Smith set his traps chiefly for first offenders; they were more 
easily moulded. 

He wanted those who, by force of circumstances, environ¬ 
ment, apparent opportunity and their own inherent weaknesses, 
had stepped over the narrow line separating legal and illegal 
practices. These were fair game to Smith. And the majority 
of these, if they could succeed in dodging arrest, made a break 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 181 

for South Africa. Extradition warrants were hard to get 
there. 

Of these, some few succeeded and made good; others were 
located by the police at Cape Town and sent back in irons; but 
most of them were located by agents of Smith. 

The part of the book he was now consulting was marked 
“Sheep Found,” and he turned back several times to look 
gloatingly at the photograph of a pretty, dark-haired girl, 
whose wide open eyes held an innocent, baby stare. 

Finally he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands 
briskly together. 

“She’ll do,” he exclaimed at length in well satisfied tones. 

Just then a timid rap sounded on the door. 

“Come in!” Smith said. 

The door opened slowly and two men entered, closing the 
door cautiously behind them. 

Smith looked at his watch, scowled fiercely, but did not turn 
to look at the two men who had entered. A small shaving 
mirror on his desk obviated that necessity. 

“You’re late,” he snapped. “Ten minutes. Why?” 

The two men came forward and the taller one, an alert, 
soldierly looking man with furtive eyes, said, “I was ordered 
out on special duty, boss. And I couldn’t get back any sooner.” 

“That’s a hell of an excuse. What do you think I got you 
appointed plainclothes man on the force for, if you’re not here 
when I want you? Why couldn’t you get someone else to 
take the duty for you?” 

“I would have, boss, only I don’t think you would have 
wanted me to.” The man’s round face flushed with embar¬ 
rassment and his eyes wandered aimlessly about the room. 
“You see, boss, some of the black coats have been squealing to 
the chief that ‘Cat’ has been selling booze to the niggers and I 
was detailed to go out there and get evidence. I thought I 
could do better than any of the others, so I went.” 

A shadow of a smile flitted over Smith’s face. 

“Sometimes you show smatterings of intelligence, Brimmer. 


182 the major—diamond buyer 

It’s just as well you didn’t back out of the job. Did you get 
anything on Cat?” 

Brimmer grinned broadly. 

“Not a thing, boss. I was there four hours and I didn’t 
see Cat serve one drink—don’t believe he’s got any stuff on the 
place at all. He says he’s never sold a nigger liquor and I be¬ 
lieve him. Cyanide knocks ’em out quicker and it’s got a 
bigger kick—and it’s much cheaper.” 

Smith waved his hands. 

“All right. That’ll do for you. But how about you, Solly?” 

He turned swiftly on the other man. 

“I waited for Brimmer, boss. Thought you wanted to see 
us both together.” 

“Thinking again, eh, Solly? How many times have I told 
you not to? Your hands are your brains, Solly, and I’ll grant 
you that they’re exceedingly good in their line. I always keep 
my eyes on my watch and purse when you’re around. But out¬ 
side of your hands, Solly, you- Well, don’t think, Solly, 

that’s all. And Brimmer!” 

“Yes, boss?” 

“Next time you see Savage, or Houndsditch Joe or Sneak 
Saunders, arrest ’em—then let me know. I’ll supply you 
with enough evidence to keep ’em in jail for the rest of their 
lives. See?” 

“All right, boss,” Brimmer said with forced cheerfulness, 
but he and Solly exchanged uneasy glances. Always when 
Smith notified them that he had withdrawn his protection from 
this or that man, they wondered when their turn would come. 

“What have they done?” Solly asked timidly. 

The question aroused Smith’s anger again. 

“Done? It’s what they haven’t done. They had a chance 
to get the Major. And the fools fell down. Not only that, 
but he beat them at their own game and upset the slickest gun- 
running scheme I’ve ever planned. I’ve had my fill of that 
monocled dude—do you hear? He’s upset my plans three 
times—and that’s three times too many.” 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


183 


“Do you want him croaked, boss?” 

Smith looked at Brimmer pityingly. 

“No! That’s too easy—and there’s always a danger of them 
pinning it on the chap who did it. And when a chap’s neck is 
in danger he won’t think twice about squealing on me. Not 
that anyone knows a great deal—not even you, Brimmer. Re¬ 
member that. No! I’m going to find out what the Major’s 
done on the other side; I want to know why he’s hiding out 
here. And once I know that, I’ll have him where I want him. 
But until then, Brimmer, I want him in a safe place so that he 
can’t get in my way. And what place is safer than jail, eh?” 

Smith rubbed his hands together and chuckled softly. 

“That’s easy, boss,” Brimmer said quickly. “Frame him 
with diamonds. Solly here can slip a couple in his pocket and 
I’ll arrest him.” 

Smith shook his head. 

“I don’t want you or Solly to figure on any deal I make with 
the Major. I want some of his friends on the force—and 
there’s plenty of ’em, I hear—to do it. Then again, if you or 
Solly have anything to do with it, there’s sure to be talk of a 
frame-up and the Major may get away—and then good-bye 
to the Major. He’d steer clear of this dorp in future aad I’d 
have the devil’s own time getting hold of him.” 

“Then how about sending him a stone by registered mail, 
boss, and tipping the cops off?” 

Smith considered this plan of Solly’s for a moment, then 
shook his head. 

“No! I don’t think that’s any good either. He’s too slim 
to be caught by that old trick. I’ve a good mind,” he con¬ 
tinued reflectively, “to ask him to come to see me. Perhaps 
we could do business together. I need a man like the Major.” 

“Then you don’t think he’s a damned dude fool, boss?” 

“What’s that?” Smith said sharply. “No—he’s no fool. 
Just because he wears a monocle, drawls and wears swagger 
clothes—that’s no sign he’s a brainless idiot like you two. And 
he’s a gentleman, remember that.” 


18 4 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“But you always said-” Brimmer began. 

“However,” Smith disregarded the detective’s interruption, 
“he’s played his last hand against me.” He pointed to the 
photograph of the dark-haired, baby-eyed girl. “Is she in the 
dorp now?” 

“All the chaps on the force are moony about her. They’ve 
all proposed to her and she promised to be a sister to them.” 
Brimmer snickered. “She aims higher than poor troopers. 
She’s setting her cap at-” 

“Never mind all that,” Smith exclaimed impatiently. “Is 
she in town now?” 

“Yes, boss.” 

“All right. Go and get her. I’m ready to gamble that 
she won’t refuse my proposal.” 

“Very good, boss. Solly had better come with me. She 
may be stubborn.” 

“Take him, then. Has the Major moved camp yet?” 

“No, boss. His nigger’s sick—had a dose of malaria; and 
when niggers do get it, they get it bad. The Major was at 
Cat’s place when I was there.” 

Smith’s eyes suddenly dilated, then narrowed to pin points 
and, rising from his chair, he paced up and down the room 
several times. For the moment he seemed incapable of speech. 
At last a torrent of invectives came from his scarcely parted 
lips, sounding all the more evil because his voice was soft, al¬ 
most womanish. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” he snarled finally. 

“I forgot,” Brimmer stammered. “And—and you were 
talking and I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Smith reseated himself. 

“What was the Major doing at Cat’s place?” There was 
a note of suspicion in his voice. “Do you think the mission¬ 
aries hired him to get evidence of liquor selling to the niggers?” 

“No.” Brimmer scoffed at the idea. “He’s just fooling 
away the time, waiting until his nigger gets better. He was 
feeding the pigeons while I was there. Had his pockets stuffed 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


185 


with corn and was feeding it to them. He said they were his 
lady loves! Cat said that’s all he does; said the Major’s a 
great bird tamer.” 

Smith waved his hands impa¬ 
tiently. 

“All right. Go and get the 
girl. And look smart about it.” 

* * * 

The Major stood at the en¬ 
trance to his bell tent, looking 
down at the homely face of Jim, 
who, wrapped in many blankets, 
was lying on the camp cot. 

“It is folly to keep me here, baas,” Jim pleaded. “The 
fever has left me and I am strong. It is not fitting that the 
baas should wait on me.” 

“It is most fitting, Jim,” the Major replied with a whim¬ 
sical smile. “But, yes, to-day you shall get up. And to¬ 
morrow, if strength has fully come back to you, we will get 
Miss Dot and trek for the Peters’ homestead. Now I leave 
you for a little while.” 

“Where does the baas go? To the store?” 

“Yes, Jim. To feed the pigeons.” 

The Hottentot moved uneasily. 

“I do not like that place, baas. It is not wise for you to go 
there alone. Yesterday, while you were away, one of the 
boys from the mines told me many bad things about the store 
of the white man you call Cat.” 

The Major laughed. 

“I have eyes, Jim. I have ears.” 

“True, baas. But the bullet which kills is not seen—and 
it has no voice.” 

“There will be no killing, Jim. I have no enemies in this 
place.” 

With a final word of warning to Jim not to move from the 




186 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

bed during his absence, the Major let fall the flap of the tent 
and strode off across the veld toward the store buildings of 
Cat Perkins, half a mile away. As he walked he whistled a 
cheery tune. There was a snap in the air despite the heat; the 
veld smells were sweet and refreshingly reminiscent of an Eng¬ 
lish spring. 

Halfway between the tent and the store he passed a group 
of native labourers returning home to their kraals, having com¬ 
pleted their two years’ contract of servitude in the mines. 
At the sight of them the Major’s whistle died away on a plain¬ 
tive note; he no longer felt gay. They were typical examples 
of the way in which the vicious element of South Africa’s white 
population degrades the natives. 

When they had come to the mines, naked, possibly, save for 
a loin cloth, they had been magnificent in their physical per¬ 
fection, their eyes had been clear, their gait buoyant and, 
somehow, royal. But now they were hollow-cheeked, round- 
shouldered and emaciated. Accustomed to active, outdoor life 
and simple living, the forced labour in the diamond mines had 
exacted a heavy toll of them. Their natural dignity of car¬ 
riage had been replaced by a slouching, shuffling walk and they 
were objects of derision by reason of the ridiculous hodge¬ 
podge of white men’s garments they wore. They had sold their 
heritage for a mess of pottage. 

They leered drunkenly at the Major as he passed them; 
flippant, obscene jests, learned from white men at the mines, 
were ready to their tongues—though these jests did not find 
utterance. There was something about this tall white man of 
round face and glittering eyes which shamed them. His erect 
carriage, the supreme confidence of his bearing, his manliness 
and evident sympathetic understanding of them, demanded the 
respectful homage they were accustomed to pay to the chief. 
And this homage they gave, almost automatically, as it were. 

The monocle he wore, his dudish attire, the vacuous and al¬ 
most inane expression which masked his face, did not blind their 
eyes to the real man under the veneer of effeminacy. Service 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


187 

in the mines had not completely destroyed that sense which the 
Great Spirit has given to all children—the ability to measure 
a man’s: true worth. 

Whatever he might be, judged by the white man’s superficial 
understanding, they recognized in him a man of keen wit, emi¬ 
nently just and of great strength and sincerity of purpose. 
They saw that he was a man who demanded and received in¬ 
stant obedience; who could do all things and do them well. 

So they doffed their hats and greeted him with, “Sauka bona, 
Inkosi —Greetings, Oh Chief!” And by their attitude they 
seemed mutely to apologize for their drunkenness; each wish¬ 
ing that he had shield and spear in his hands that he might salute 
the white man in a manner more worthy. 

He waved his hand in acknowledgment of their salute and 
passed on. 

But now his face was stern, his gray eyes were cold, hard, 
glittering, and as he increased his pace a little he clenched his 
fists. 

Drunken natives—drunk on the vile concoctions sold to 
them at exorbitant prices by men like Cat—always affected him 
this way; but his anger was directed against the white men. 

Presently he saw three men—white men—ride from behind 
the store and gallop swiftly toward him. He wondered a 
little, wondered still more as they thundered past him without 
word or greeting. Not that he knew them, but it was cus¬ 
tomary for men meeting on the veld to exchange courtesies. 

He turned and stared after them, saw the band of natives 
he had met scatter in all directions, saw the white men attempt 
to ride them down, striking right and left with their sjamboks, 
and heard the curses of the whites and the frightened pleas of 
the blacks. 

“The rotten devils,” the Major exclaimed, and ran swiftly 
back, prepared to shoot, knowing now that the three white 
men were scum of the diggings, knowing that they were men 
who preyed upon native labourers as they were returning to 
their kraals and robbed them of their hard earned money. It 


188 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

fc- 

was easy game. The natives had few, if any, legal rights in 
those early South African days. 

As the Major drew nearer, the white men dismounted. The 
natives had suddenly capitulated and were kneeling down on 
the veld, their hands raised before them in abject surrender. 
The whites, intent on searching the natives with methodical 
brutality, did not notice the approach of the Major until he 
was quite close. And then it was too late. 

| Their hands leaped to their revolvers—and one, a big 
heavily-bearded Dutchman, had his gun halfway out of the 
holster but, seeing that the Major had him covered, followed 
the example of his two companions and held up his hands. 

The natives looked inquiringly at their deliverer and in re¬ 
sponse to his command, “Hamba, wena’,’ rapidly departed. 
The attack had completely sobered them and in a few minutes 
they had disappeared from sight. 

Still, for a quarter of an hour or more, the Major kept the 
three in their sky-reaching attitude, indifferent alike to their 
threats and curses, laughing at their invitation to go in with 
them on equal shares. 

' “You’re such charming birds,” he drawled scathingly. 
“Wife-beaters are angels—comparatively, that is to say. Well, 
you can go your own way now. I fancy your erstwhile would- 
be contributors to your general fund—having learned their 
lesson—will not linger by the wayside and you won’t catch 
them again. It’s much easier to find a needle in a haystack 
than to find a native on the veld. That is, when the dear old 
aborigine doesn’t want to be found.” 

With a schoolboy gesture he stubbed his toes, sending a 
cloud of red veld dust over them, put his revolver back in its 
holster and with a snort of contemptuous disgust turned 
away. 

For a moment the three gazed after him, speechless, not 
daring to move, fearing he meant to trick them. Then with 
a bellow of rage and fists flying the Dutchman sprang after 
him, followed by the other two. 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


189 

“Leave him to me,” the big man yelled. “This verdoemte 
fool is my game!” The others, nothing loath, grinning with 
joy at the anticipated slaughter, stood by and watched. 

His round face wreathed in smiles, the Major turned, lightly 
evaded the Dutchman’s wild rush and succeeded in reaching 
his chin with a right as the big man lumbered by. The blow, 
which would have knocked out many a man, served only to 
sting the Dutchman to greater fury. 

Turning clumsily, he came once more to the attack. The 
usual bovine expression of his face was replaced by a murder¬ 
ous look of madness. His eyes, almost hidden by the thick 
beard which grew high on his cheek bones, glinted piggishly; 
his lips were parted and drawn awry, showing uneven, dis¬ 
coloured teeth. 

Making queer, grunting, animal noises, he came on, and this 
time the Major made no attempt to dodge but, stepping inside 
the swinging, flail-like blows, beat a rapid tattoo on the Dutch¬ 
man’s stomach, blows which travelled hardly six inches, but 
each one made the Dutchman gasp and shook him visibly. 

Then, before his opponent could come to a clinch, the Major 
broke away, whipping home an uppercut to the jaw as he did 
so. 

“You’re in deuced bad condition, Dutchy, old chap,” the 
Major chortled. “Too much bad booze and nigger baiting. 
That’s the trouble with you.” 

With the back of his hand the Dutchman wiped away the 
blood, which flowed from the corner of his mouth. 

“Stand still, man! Stand still and I will come to you!” 

With his huge, gorilla-like arms stretched out before him, 
fingers wide-spread but curving slightly, the Dutchman slowly 
advanced. He was horrible to watch. He seemed to be 
feeling his way—was groping like a blind man. There was 
something elemental, indomitable, about him; nothing could 
stop him. 

The Major, realizing this, retreated warily, watching for an 
opening, knowing that if he stopped one of the Dutchman’s 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


190 

sledge-hammer blows he would be stopped and out, knowing 
that if they came to grips he would be lost. 

He found himself regretting that he had been drawn into 
such a brawl. He thought of using his revolver to extricate 
himself from the predicament, but at once vetoed the idea as a 
confession of weakness. He would play fair, would match his 
science and great strength against the almost superhuman 
strength and brute-like indifference to pain of the Dutchman. 

And so he retreated slowly, his eyes watching the Dutch¬ 
man’s feet, always keeping just beyond reach of the ever-menac¬ 
ing hands, ready to leap to the right, to the left, or backward 
at any moment. 

The Dutchman followed. 

One of the watching men giggled hysterically. The other, 
creeping softly up behind the Major, gave him a push which 
sent him headlong into the Dutchman’s arms. 

“Cuddle him tight—cuddle him tight, Deemster,” he 
screamed, and laughed shrilly. 

Deemster did not need the advice. As the Major came to 
him his arms closed automatically and strained his foe to him. 
The Major’s arms were pinned to his side and, though he 
struggled desperately, he could not move. As well try to 
break loose from iron bands as from that mighty grip. Slowly 
his head was forced back by the pressure applied to the middle 
of his back. 

He knew that soon he must relax, if only for a moment, and 
that moment would be the beginning of the end—if not the 
end. He tried to trip the giant, but Deemster, his feet set 
wide apart, seemed to be rooted to the ground. 

The pressure increased. The Major’s face was purple, blue- 
black; his eyes protruded from their sockets; he gasped and 
his head fell forward limply. He had reached the limit of his 
endurance. In another moment, he thought, his ribs would 
cave in. Coloured lights flashed before his eyes and a wild 
pounding, like the drumming of surf on a rocky shore, sounded 
in his ears. 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


191 

He heard—or rather seemed to be subconsciously aware of— 
a fresh, girlish voice exclaiming, “Oh! Make that terrible 
man stop, Sergeant. He’s killing the other one!” 

That voice was echoed by a man’s—the one who had giggled 
at Deemster’s advance. 

“Stop it, Piet—here’s a bobby!” 

And then a big wave seemed to come up and cover the 
Major, beating him down, smothering him, and he wandered 
in great darkness. 

When he came to, he was conscious first of a great soreness, 
and then wondered at the softness of the ground under his 
head. Opening his eyes, he lobked up into the face of a dark¬ 
haired, dark-eyed girl. His head was in her lap. 

The Major, except that he thought he understood Dorothy, 
knew little about the fair sex, and immediately considered her 
a personification of all the feminine virtues. 

Dorothy would at once have remarked that her hair was 
several shades lighter at the roots and would have made scorn¬ 
ful criticisms anent her bizarre attire—a lacy, frail blouse, 
khaki riding skirt, silk stockings, and high heeled shoes. The 
Major mentally voted it Ai. 

He did not move for several minutes. Then, becoming sud¬ 
denly embarrassed, he struggled to a sitting position. 

“What happened?” he asked feebly. “How did you man¬ 
age to-?” 

“Oh, I didn’t do it all,” the girl interposed quickly, and there 
was a babyish lisp in her voice. “I was riding with the ser¬ 
geant and we saw you fighting with that beast of a Dutchman 
—and the sergeant stopped him from killing you. What was 
it all about? Why did that big, naughty man try to “kill 
you ?” 

The Major fumbled in the breast pocket of his tunic coat 
and sighed with relief to find his monocle unbroken. 

“Why—er—it was about this,” he stammered, bringing the 
monocle out and fixing it in his eye. “The beggar made some 
rude remarks about it and, do you know, I’m as blind as a bat 


192 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

without it. Besides, I feel so beastly self-conscious unless I 
wear it.” He rose to his feet, suppressing a groan. “And 
where is the sergeant now?” 

“Oh, he’s gone off after those men,” cooed the girl. “He 
said they were probably I. D. B.’s—whatever that means. So 
he rode away and forgot all about poor little me.” 

“But I’m here, dear miss,” the Major said gallantly. 

She looked at him archly. 

“Yes—but I don’t know you.” 

“My name’s Aubrey St. John.” He bowed. 

“And mine, Mr. Sinjun—well, does it matter? Call me 
Martha.” 

“Martha. It’s a pretty name but, dear Miss Martha, surely 
you are not troubled by many things?” 

She gazed at him uncomprehendingly. 

“Martha—er—of the Bible, you know,” he explained lamely. 

“I don’t know,” she said somewhat tartly. “But I must go. 
The sergeant told me to wait for him at Cat’s. What’s 
Cat’s?” 

The Major smiled and pointed to the store. 

“Cat’s the name of the man who owns that. They call him 
Cat because when he fights he—er—scratches.” 

She giggled. 

“Won’t you let me escort you there?” the Major continued. 
“It’s not a nice place for a lady like you to wait alone.” 

She hesitated. 

“But you—are you all right?” She touched his arm timidly. 

“Yes. Quite all right, dear miss.” He caught her horse 
which was grazing near by and led it up to her. “I was going 
to Cat’s anyway,” he added, as she still showed signs of hesi¬ 
tation. “I go every day to feed the pigeons.” 

“But you must ride.” She stamped her foot impatiently as 
he shook his head. “You’ve been hurt,” she added, “and if 
you don’t ride—I’ll—I’ll cry.” 

“If I ride,” said the Major, becoming suddenly bold, “you 
must ride, too.” 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


193 


She clapped her hands gleefully. 

“All right,” she cried. And after the Major had gingerly 
climbed into the saddle she lightly sprang up before him. 

“It would be dreadful if Sergeant Brimmer saw us like 
this,” she murmured. “He’s terribly jealous.” 

The Major frowned a little, but made no reply. He was 
thinking very deeply. 

And so, though he was half-consciously aware that some one 
rode past them, he did not know that that some one was Doro¬ 
thy Peters, did not see her wide-eyed stare, the haughty, con¬ 
temptuous toss of her head; did not see the happy expression of 
relief which came into her eyes. But Martha saw it all, and 
hugged him tightly and looked adoringly into his face. A 
quick-witted, clever girl, Martha! 

When they came to Cat’s store they found it deserted save 
for a flock of heat-weary, dispirited pigeons. And the girl, 
jumping to the ground, looked curiously at the Major. 

His face was very pale and he swayed in the saddle. 

“Better get down,” she said sharply, “and sit over here in 
the shade.” 

She indicated a wooden bench set against the side of one of 
the store houses. The house’s tin roof had a sharp pitch to it 
and, because water was scarce and every drop of rain carefully 
hoarded, was well provided with gutter spouts which emptied 
into a pipe leading to a large cistern. 

The Major leaned back and wearily closed his eyes. 

The girl regarded him shrewdly. “I’ll go inside,” she said 
presently, “and get you some brandy. That will fix you up.” 

“Thank you, dear miss,” he murmured. “You are awfully 
kind to a chappie. Please don’t bother.” 

But she had already run across to the large hut and, after 
a moment’s hesitation, entered. 

The Major cautiously opened his eyes and whistled softly. 
The pigeons became suddenly interested in life and flew to him, 
some perching on his shoulders, others fluttering in the air just 
above his head. 


194 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“You’re greedy creatures,” he said. “Always hungry. 
Well, I’ve lots of corn for you.” 

From his pockets he very carefully took a handful and threw 
it on the roof of the hut just behind him. A second and third 
handful quickly followed the fist. 

It pattered like hail on the tin and with a whir of beating 
wings the pigeons left him and were soon pecking away on the 
roof, seeking to get the corn he had thrown before it all rolled 
down into the eaves and so—because of the steep pitch—into 
the cistern. 

The Major watched them for a few minutes and then, re¬ 
suming his seat, closed his eyes. 

Hardly had he done so when four men of the mounted police 
came out of the hut the girl had entered and with revolvers 
levelled shouted, “Hands up, Major.” 

The Major opened his eyes wide in astonishment but, be¬ 
cause in his long career of I. D. B. he had been many times in 
a similar situation, he lost no time in obeying the peremptory 
command. But he looked reproachfully at the girl who had 
also come out of the hut and was peering over the troopers’ 
shoulders. She was flushed, but triumphant. 

And now the Major’s face was masked with a bland, inno¬ 
cent expression. He looked more than ever like the silly ass 
of the stage; and his voice, when he spoke, heightened the il¬ 
lusion. 

“What’s it all about, old dears?” he drawled. “Why the 
well known whatness of the which, eh? And why the little 
poppers?” 

The troopers laughed. They all had had encounters with 
the Major before this, and knew that he was never so dan : ' 
gerous as when playing the part of a dude fool. 

“I’ll tell you, Major,” said the senior trooper confidentially, 
“we think we have the goods on you this time, and we don’t 
intend to be drawn into any argument with you here.” 

“No, old dear? Then what? But first may I put down 
my hands?” 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW . 


195 


“No! Keep ’em up. We’re not taking any chances.” 

“Very well,” said the Major in resigned tones. “If you 
must have your little joke. But I think you’re bally cruel, 
Fenwick.” 

“Give you half a chance,” growled one of the other troopers 
—he did not know the Major very well—“and you’d be shoot¬ 
ing the daylight out of us.” 

“You misjudge me, really,” murmured the Major. 

“Yes, he misjudges you,” continued Fenwick. “I don’t. 
Just the same, I’m not taking chances, Major. You know 
what getting the goods on you means to us. Promotion for 
us all.” 

The Major looked at him quizzically. 

“But you wouldn’t care awfully much for promotion earned 
that way, would you, old top? Sort of Judas money, isn’t it?” 

Fenwick flushed. 

“No!” he said hotly. “You know damned well what we 
think of you on the force—the ones that know you, at any 
rate—but this is a straight tip —and I’m going to play it 
straight. You’ve had your inning—and a pretty long one. 
Now it’s our turn. Didn’t think you were a squealer.” 

“I’m not,” said the Major hurriedly. “I’m sorry if I’ve 
hurt your feelin’s, old man. Didn’t mean to, ’pon my sacred 
aunt, I didn’t. So you’ve got the goods on me, eh?” 

“Yes,” Fenwick said complacently, and despite his undoubted 
admiration for the Major a note of triumph crept into his 
voice. 

“Well, dear boy, goodness knows I’d like to be the first to 
congratulate you—yes, and be deucedly happy to offer my poor, 
unworthy, as it were, self on the altar of your blinkin’ ambi¬ 
tion. But let us meditate a while, dear lad. Don’t want you 
making an ass of yourself. Like you far too well for that. 
Tell me your little story. I suppose it has to do with dia¬ 
monds?” 

“Of course. I happen to know that you have a dozen or 
so stones on you right now.” 


196 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“And to have diamonds is against the law; therefore, not¬ 
withstanding and so forth—eh, what?” 

“Exactly.” 

“But suppose I came by the diamonds—er—honestly?” 

“I never did like fairy stories, Major.” 

“No. Then you’ll never be a good bobby. Too bad. 
Then suppose I say I haven’t any diamonds.” 

“Ah! But we know you have.” 

“How do you know—and won’t you let me take my hands 
down ?” 

“No. Keep ’em up. How do we know? Why this little 
lady, Miss Martha, just told us that you showed them to her 
not ten minutes ago. No! She didn’t mean to give you 
away.” 

“I see!” The Major spoke sadly. “But she did all the 
same.” 

“Oh, look here, don’t be a cad, Major! It happened this 
way. Miss Martha came running in and said she wanted a 
glass of brandy for a poor man who had been hurt in a fight. 
We asked her if he was a sundowner and she said, ‘No! He 
must be awfully rich. He showed me a handful of diamonds. 
He carries them around loose in his pockets.’ That’s how we 
came to know. Miss Martha doesn’t know anything about 
I. D. B.” 

“I see,” said the Major, “but how did she know they were 
diamonds? Oh, but of course, I told her. Well, if Miss 
Martha says I have diamonds on me—I suppose I have. Too 
bad. But somehow— Well, never mind. What are you 
goin’ to do? Search me here?” 

“No. We are goin’ to truss you up, hand and foot, and 
then take you into headquarters. We’ll do all the searching 
there.” 

“Then I’ve nothing more to say, old dears. Only this. I 
wish you’d take me first to my camp—it’s just over the way— 
where my servant Jim is recovering from an attack of fever. 
I want to give him a few instructions. Also, I’d be awfully 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


197 


glad if one of you fellows would remain at my camp—sort of 
keep guard, don’t you know? You will, Longshanks? Oh, 
that’s rippin’, positively rippin’.” 

About half an hour after the departure of the troopers with 
their prisoner, the girl who called herself Martha was joined 
by Brimmer, the Dutchman, Solly and the man who was called 
Cat. 

“Well, did it work?” Brimmer asked eagerly. 

The girl laughed scornfully. 

“Like a charm,” she said. “He never suspected until it was 
too late. I don’t think he had it right, even then. Tell your 
boss, Brimmer, to give me something hard to do next time. I 
know all about monocled johnnies. Plenty of ’em in London. 
And how I hate them!” 

“The boss should have let me settle the verdoemte fool in 
my own way,” growled the Dutchman. “He loosened a tooth, 
look you! But I had only to tighten my arms a little more 
and-” 

His gesture was very expressive and the girl shrank away 
from him with a little cry of fear. 

* * * 

Ten days later Smith was listening to the report of his 
henchman, Brimmer. And Smith’s face was not a pleasant 
sight. It was contorted with rage and, all the time during 
the police recital, curses and blasphemies burst out of Smith’s 
mouth. 

“Something went wrong somewhere, boss,” Brimmer con¬ 
cluded—and looked apprehensively at Smith. 

“You’re damned right something went wrong. How about 
the girl? Did she play square with me?” 

“Yes, boss. There’s no doubt about that. She’s been carry¬ 
ing on worse than you about it. She slipped the stones in his 
pocket all right!” 

“And the search was on the level ?” 


198 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


“Yah! The chief searched the Major himself. And then 
he called in one of the compound managers—Schmall it was 
—and you know how Schmall searches. He’s never let any 
niggers get away with the stones from his compound! No! 
The search was on the level—and they didn’t find any¬ 
thing.” 

“Well, he must have got rid of them when they were bring¬ 
ing him in.” 

Brimmer shook his head. 

“He couldn’t, boss. They tied him so tightly he couldn’t 
move an eyelash.” 

“Was he alone any time? Before they arrested him, I 
mean ?” 

“The girl went in to spill the beans to the troopers—left 
him about two minutes. But she could see him all that time, 
she said, through the window!” 

“What was he doing?” 

“Threw a couple of handfuls of corn to the pigeons, that’s 
all.” 

“Then, you damned fool, he-” 

“No, boss. I thought of that. Had every bloomin’ bird 
on the place killed and examined their crops myself. Not a 
bloomin’ sign of a stone. And if there had been, it wouldn’t 
have done us any good. That ’ud be no evidence.” 

“I know that, you fool. But, at least, I wouldn’t have been 
out any. Oh, get out of here. Suppose I’ll have to handle 
him myself. Get out! And if you fall down on the next job 
I give you, I’ll see to it that your chief is told certain little 
things about Sergeant Brimmer.” 

Brimmer hastily left the room and Smith opening one of 
his books, turned the pages slowly. 

“If I could get him with me,” he murmured once, “I could 
—why, there’s nothing I couldn’t do. Think I’ll ask him to 
pay me a call.” 

Sunset and the gathering darkness found Smith still at his 
books, recording, as words came in, the successful carrying out 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


199 

of certain crimes, the planning of others, and the assigning of 
tasks. 

When it became too dark he lighted an oil lamp. Then, just 
as he was about to turn to his 
work again, a pane in the little 
window which looked out into a 
narrow alley was broken and the 
muzzle of a rifle appeared in the 
opening. 

Smith looked at it in terror. 

He had always meant to have that 
window walled up and now—the 
Nemesis he had so long feared had 
overtaken him. He was notori¬ 
ously afraid of firearms. 

He was reassured somewhat by a low, drawling voice. 

“I’m coming in to see you, Smithy, and this is just to warn 
you not to try any little jokes. Jim—he’s a Hottentot, you 
know—and my servant—is holding this rifle an’ he’s quite a 
good shot at close range. So if you move—why, there’ll be a 
big red blotch on your book, old top.” 

“Come on in, Major,” Smith whispered. “I’ve been want¬ 
in’ to see you for a long time.” 

“All right, Smithy, though you may not realize quite how 
long it is. Watch him closely, Jim. If he moves only his 
little finger, shoot. You understand?” 

“Yah, baas.” 

There was silence. Then, after a while, the door behind 
Smith opened, closed again. 

But Smith did not move. He watched the rifle with un¬ 
blinking eyes. He seemed to be beyond speech. 

“I’m here, Smith, the Major said cheerfully, “and ’pon my 
soul I don’t think much of the place. It needs ventilation, if 
you will pardon me. You ought to get out in the fresh air 
more, Smithy. But I’m in a hurry. Just wanted to pop 
in to see the master mind, as it were. Just a little joke with 









200 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

you, and then I pop out again. Why are you so unkind to 
me, Smithy?” 

“I want you to work with me, Major, and-” 

“And you thought by framing me on a charge of illicit dia¬ 
mond buying to win my everlasting gratitude. Oh, come now, 
Smithy, that won’t do. And to be quite frank with you, dear 
lad, it isn’t the first time, and I don’t like you; haven’t liked 
you for a long, long time. You’ve been most unkind to me— 
right from the first. Do you remember a young chap named 
Aubrey St. John Major? No? Let me refresh your mem¬ 
ory. He came out here, oh, many years ago, and he didn’t 
know anything—a perfect greenhorn, don’t you know. But 
he saw you thrashing a native and he interfered. Of course 
that was very foolish of him, a great mistake; he should have 
minded his own business—or killed you. I think it would 
have been better had he killed you. But he didn’t. He was 
a greenhorn, you know. He only took the sjambok away from 
you, that’s all. And you, you were a cowardly louse even 
then, you hired some men to frame him. They gave him a 
diamond—he was a greenhorn, you know—and he was ar¬ 
rested and convicted of I. D. B. and sent to the Breakwater 
for two years. He learned a lot during those two years— 
quite a lot, Smithy. And he doesn’t like you; in short, I don’t 
like you, and I’m going to have a merry little game with you. 
Of course you’ve guessed that I am that poor little greenhorn 
you framed years ago! Yes? Up to now the count’s four to 
one in my favour; five to one if you were behind the Anton 

Syndicate—and I think you were. However- Did you 

speak?” 

Smith looked at the Major out of the corner of his eye and 
sneered slightly at his impeccable attire. But he did not 
speak. He was under a disadvantage. While he was covered 
by the rifle he seemed incapable of connected thought and, 
being too clever to expose his weakness, sought refuge in silence. 

“Sulky?” went on the Major. “Fie, for shame! Well, 
I’m deucedly fond of talking. Too much so, sometimes. At 


A PERSONAL INTERVIEW 


201 


least my friends tell me so. Have you any friends, Smithy? 
No; I thought not. I don’t like you, Smithy. I don’t like 
the way you do things—the little I’ve seen of your work gives 
me a very poor impression of you. Oh, very! And so I’m 
just goin’ to spoil your little games whenever I run across them 
—if I can, of course. I’ve done rather well so far, eh, what? 
Four scores to me, I think. 

“And now, because I don’t like a man to be puzzled over 
simple things, I’m goin’ to tell you what happened to those dia¬ 
monds Miss Martha put in my pocket. She is very clever— 
oh, very clever—and quite fooled me. I’m very susceptible to 
women, you know—bless ’em. But Martha isn’t the sort of 
woman who would make some man a good wife, is she? Too 
self-centred, I should say. 

“Well, about those diamonds. You see, dear old pig, I’m 
very fond of pigeons and so I always used to feed those of 
Cat’s. And—well, it was so easy to throw the diamonds up 
on the roof at the same time I was feedin’ the birds. But, ah! 
Verily and forsooth! What then became of the diamonds? 
Did the birds eat them? Nay, verily no. What then? Why, 
dear old chap, they rolled down the roof into the gutter. I 
had thrown them aloft first—before the birds got on the wing. 
And they rolled down the gutter until they came to the pipe 
which leads to the cistern. And they rolled down that pipe— 
fell down expresses their speed better perhaps—until they came 
to the- 

“Ah! your eyes light up! What a clever johnny you are! 
But—and I’m greatly distressed—I must disappoint you. No! 
They didn’t fall into the cistern. Your assistant, Mr. Brimmer, 
would have found them had that been the case. No, dear old 
Fagin Smith. I had fixed a wire mesh across the inside of that 
pipe, about six inches from the end, weeks ago, so that the 
grain wouldn’t be wasted. And that caught the diamonds as 
they fell down. And there they were when the police chap¬ 
pies let me go. Of course they’re not there now. Clever of 
me, wasn’t it?” 


202 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

Smith grunted savagely. His eyes did not waver from the 
gun barrel. 

“You’re not very sociable, Smithy, I must say. But to 
finish the story. Of course I felt that you probably had no 
right to keep those diamonds, and I know a few ways of dis¬ 
posing of the little trinkets. So I did—quite profitably— 
where there’s no proof. Well—ta-ta, old chap. One gets 
terribly tired of hearin’ one’s own voice. And you’re not very 
pretty to look at. Oh, Jim!” 

“Yah, baas.” 

“Keep a close watch. If he moves—shoot.” 

“Yah, baas.” 

The door of the room opened, closed, and Smith was left 
alone again, too disgruntled to move even when the menacing 
rifle was withdrawn. 

Sometime later Sergeant Brimmer burst into the room, en¬ 
tirely failing to notice the expression on Whip Smith’s face— 
which was indicative of deep disgust. 

“The Major leaves to-morrow, they’re saying down at head¬ 
quarters!” Brimmer announced. “Do you want me to go out 
and tell him you’d like to see him before he leaves, boss?” 

“See him!” snarled Smith. “Why in hell do you think I 
want to see that damned dude?” 

“But,” stammered the luckless policeman, “I—thought, boss, 
you said you wanted a personal interview with him, and 
he-” 

He would have said more, but the look on Smith’s face 
frightened him and he left the room even more precipitately 
than he had entered. 


CHAPTER VIII 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 

T HE morning after his interview with Whispering Smith, 
the Major hastened to the house of Roger Griffin where 
Dorothy was staying. He was met at the door by Mrs. 
Griffin. 

“Will you tell Dorothy—Miss Peters, you know—to be 
ready to leave at ten o’clock. I’ll call for her then.” 

“Miss Peters is not here,” Mrs. Griffin said coldly. 

The Major looked blank. 

“Not here? Oh, I see what you mean. She has gone out 
for a ride, is that it?” 

“No! She is not here. She left for home early this morn¬ 
ing—before sunrise, in fact.” 

The Major was incredulous. 

“Oh, but pardon me, she wouldn’t do that. We were 
going home to-day, together; we’d have gone several days ago 
only Jim—he’s my Hottentot servant, you know—came down 
with the bally fever. And, of course, we had to wait until 
he had completely recovered. He’s all right now; has been 
all right several days, in fact, and we’d have got away sooner 
if it hadn’t been for the fact that the police—the silly asses— 
got it into their beans that I was an I. D. B. Most absurd, 
what?” He smiled at Mrs. Griffin engagingly. 

She tapped her foot impatiently. 

“You’re wasting your time here, Major,” she said curtly. 
“Dorothy left early this morning, as I’ve already told you.” 

The Major looked at her, thinking that she was joking. 
But there was no gleam of humour in her eyes. 

“But that’s most extraordinary!” he expostulated. “Why 


203 


204 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


would she do such a thing! We were—er-” He came to 

a confused stop. Then, “She didn’t go alone, surely?” 

“No. A young man named Burton—he works on her 
father’s farm, I believe—was in town. She saw him and, as 
I’ve told you several times, went back with him this morning.” 

“I see,” the Major said sorrowfully, hesitated a moment and 
then turned slowly away. 

“And,” Mrs. Griffin called after him, “she told me that she 
didn’t want to see you again.” 

If the Major heard her he gave no sign of having done so, 
but walked swiftly down the dusty street, looking straight 
ahead. 

On he went, ignoring the invitations of acquaintances to 
“Come and have a drink,” through the squalid native quarter 
and to his camp on the veld t^ond the town. 

Jim, he saw, had inspanned the mules to the Cape cart, had 
saddled the black stallion, Satan, and was talking to a tall 
white man who wore the uniform of the police. 

“Outspan, Jim,” the Major ordered. “We do not trek 
to-day; we stay here.” 

As the Hottentot cheerfully set about making camp again 
the Major turned to the white man. “Ah, there, Hammond,” 
he said dully. 

Hammond came to him with outstretched hand. “Major,” 
he exclaimed enthusiastically. “You’ve done wonders. Miss 
Peters has told me a lot about you—I want to hear the rest 
from you.” 

“There’s nothing else to add, old chap. But I do flatter 
myself that I’ve scotched one or two of our mutual friend’s 
little games.” 

“One or two! I should say you have. Why, man, you’ve 
hit him so hard that his gang’s beginning to break up. They 
see now that he’s not omnipotent and they’re getting afraid 
for their skins. We’ve had several offer to turn evidence al¬ 
ready. He’s too strong for us to break yet. But soon we’ll 
have him.” 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


205 

“That’s frightfully good news, old chap. I congratulate 
you.” 

Hammond snorted. 

“I didn’t do it, you silly ass. It’s you. And what do you 
think of this? Smith’s through with Brimmer—his chief 
assistant, you know. Brimmer’s blundered once or twice, 
through you, and Smith’s fed up with him. Aggie, one of 
the barmaids at Smith’s, tipped us off to that.” 

The Major made no reply, he was looking across the veld 
and it was not entirely by chance that he looked in the direc¬ 
tion of the Peters’s homestead, many days trek to the east. 

“That’ll be Smith’s big mistake,” Hammond went on. 
“He’ll never get another tool like Brimmer, but-” 

“But you didn’t come out here to tell me this, I take it?” 

“No! Look here, Major, I’ve come to you with a direct 
offer from the Big Man.” 

“Yes?” The Major did not seem interested. 

“Yes. He wants you to work with him—openly. He offers 
to make it possible for all these little—er—affairs of yours to 
be forgotten. He wants you to help him develop his big 
dream; he offers you a commission in the Force up north, or an 
important post in the Native Department or-” 

He looked sharply at the Major, and was dismayed to find 
that that man was absently polishing his monocle, was not, 
apparently, listening to him. “Well!” he asked sharply. 
“Aren’t you interested?” 

“Not a bit, old chap,” the Major drawled. “Two weeks 
ago, yesterday, two hours ago even, I would have said yes. 
Now I’m—er—not interested, as you so tersely put it.” 

“The offer remains open indefinitely,” Hammond said 
slowly. He wanted to say more, but knowing his man, 
mounted his horse and rode swiftly away. 

The Major watched him until he disappeared in the distance 
and then sat wearily in the camp-chair which Jim had placed 
for him beside the tent. Jim was a practised hand; it did not 
take him long to make camp. 


206 the major-diamond buyer 

Presently an aged native came into sight and Jim rose 
quickly from his seat and ran to meet him. 

The ]Vlajor adjusted his monocle and stared in amazement. 

“Wonder who the old codger is,” he muttered. “Never 
seen him before to my knowledge, and I’ve never seen Jim so 
deucedly polite. Bah Jove! He’s kowtowing to the old 
chappie as if he were the Lord High Executioner.” 

Jim and the newcomer were by this time at the green-wood 
fire—so built that the smoke from it kept the flies away from 
the horses which were tethered near by—and Jim, first seeing 
that his companion was comfortably seated and plentifully sup¬ 
plied with tobacco, came forward alone. 

“It’s Mangwato, baas. Chief Mangwato,” he said excitedly. 

The Major was instantly on the alert. Fabulous tales were 
told of the wealth of Mangwato and of his hatred and dis¬ 
trust of white men. 

“And what desires Mangwato?” 

“A word with you, baas.” 

“My ears are open. Tell him to come here. No. Say I 
will come to him in a little while.” 

Jim carried the news to the aged chief, who grunted ap¬ 
proval and bade Jim sit beside him. 

The Major turned his back on the two and, lighting a cig¬ 
arette, smoked it slowly to the end. Then he walked over to 
where Mangwato and Jim sat and squatted on his haunches 
opposite them. 

“Greetings to you, Mangwato!” 

Mangwato did not look up as he answered, “Aye. Greet¬ 
ings to you, also, white man.” 

The Major let the monocle fall from his eye. He was too 
wise in the ways of natives to attempt a conversation while 
wearing an eyeglass. “Distrust a man,” runs the proverb, 
“who can not look you squarely in the eye, and a woman who 
can.” 

In response to a look from his baas Jim rose to his feet, ex¬ 
plaining that he must cut fodder for the animals. 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


207 

“Mangwato, the chief, is far from his kraal,” said the Major 
softly when Jim had left them. 

“Two weeks have passed since I left my place,” the chief 
said briefly. 

“And the chief is old. The urge must be great.” 

Now for the first time Mangwato looked up from the ground 
and, gazing unblinkingly at the white man, was well satisfied 
with what he saw. Speaking slowly, he said, “It would ill 
become such men as we, white man, to bandy words as if we 
were foolish maidens. You know that it is not my custom to 
deal with white men. My country is barred to them, for I 
have observed that where enters the white men, there also 
enters evil.” 

“Yet you have come to me?” 

“Aye, for look you, not all the cattle in the herd are black; 
not all white men are evil. I have heard much talk of you 
and am well convinced that you walk a straight path.” 

“Most white men hold another opinion, chief.” 

The old man made a gesture of impatience. 

“Aye. I have heard of that, too, but your heart is clean. 
Now heed what I have to say. It has been at all times my 
order that no man from my country should go to labour in the 
mines of the white man. But you must know that many have 
disobeyed my commands—lured by the white man’s gold.” 

“That I know, chief.” 

“Also you know how the disobedient ones return to live once 
again among us, wearing strange clothes and swearing by 
strange gods. This I can forgive, for in time the disobedient 
ones return to the customs of their fathers. 

“Of late my young men who have worked in the mines 
return to us broken in spirit and in body. Some—ah me!— 
return not at all, for, as they journey to my country after serv¬ 
ing the allotted time at the mines, evil white men have set 
upon them, beating them and taking from them all that they 
have earned during those months of labour.” 

The Major was silent. He knew only too well to what the 


208 the major—diamond buyer 

chief alluded. Certain low, degenerate white men—too often 
those protected by Whispering Smith—looked upon the native 
labourers returning to their kraals as their legitimate prey. 
Nor were they content simply to rob the natives of their hard- 
earned gold but savagely attacked and mutilated—in some 
cases, killed—such as dared to make a stand to protect their 
property. 

“It is a thing of shame, Mangwato. Yet has not this evil 
much in it to commend itself to you? Will not the tales of 
the men so abused prevent others from seeking work at the 
mines ?” 

“A buck is killed at the water-hole, white man, but others 
still go there to drink. Further, the time comes when certain 
of my young men will be released to return to their kraals.” 

“And is it to greet them that the great Mangwato has 
trekked so far from his own country?” The Major’s tone 
was mildly sarcastic. 

“For them I have no care, white man. Yet one among them 
is my son—for him I fear.” Mangwato’s voice broke. 

“But why come to me? Can not the police aid you?” 

“I do not trust them. It is whispered that some among them 
know of the evil but, shutting their eyes, declare that they see 
it not. And how shall I know the true from the false?” 

“Then go to your son and warn him of the danger.” 

“I would not have my son, my disobedient son, know that I 
am concerned for his welfare. Neither would he relish being 
treated as a maiden. He is a man; he would go his own way.” 

“Then?” 

“It is to you I appeal, white man. Save my son. Let 
him return, unharmed, to the place of his fathers.” 

“What is your son’s name ?” 

“Simba, white man. Simba, the lion.” 

The Major rose to his feet. “What I can do, I will do. 
Will you wait here to greet your son?” 

“Nay. He must find me at my own place; my hand must 
not appear in this.” 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


209 


“It is well, may your path be smooth.” 

“Good rest be yours, white man,” intoned the chief as he, 
too, rose and, escorted by Jim, left the camp with dignified 
tread. 

“Jim,” said the Major when the Hottentot rejoined him, 
“did Mangwato say anything to you of his errand?” 

“Aye. But what can the baas do? These evil white men 
have no fear; they kill in the dark and there is none to give 
witness against them.” 

“But I have given my word. Here is money, Jim. Go to 
the compounds, Jim, and keep your ears open for talk of Simba 
and of the way in which these white men do their evil work. 
Without doubt they have spies in the compound who take word 
to them of the time certain labourers will be released, the 
amount of their wealth and the trail they intend to take.” 

“And what if none speak of these things?” 

“You have money. Money will purchase beer, and beer 
unloosens the tongues of men.” 

“That is true, baas. I go now. But what of you?” 

“I will go to the place of Smith.” 

Two hours later the Major entered the bar of Whispering 
Smith’s saloon. 

“Good mornin’, Major,” Aggie, the barmaid, called gaily. 

He looked around the deserted barroom. 

“All alone, eh? No one in there?” 

He nodded toward the door leading to an inner room. 

“No, I’m all alone. The police are getting nosey and asking 
too many questions. The new chief—Hammond’s his name 
—means business, they say, so the boys are keeping away. But, 
lord love you, I’m glad of it.” 

The Major nodded and turned to leave. No need for him 
to waste time here. He stopped at Aggie’s voice. 

“Stay a little while, can’t yer, Major? If you only knew 
how sick I am of this place. Not a thing to do except serve 
drinks to drunken beasts who’ve forgotten they were ever born 
of women.” 


210 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

The Major, surprised at such an outburst from one whom he 
had considered vapid and empty-headed, walked over to her. 

“So you’re sick of it, too?” 

She laughed harshly. 

“I wish to God that I’d never come to this place. I had a 
good situation in London”—she sighed reminiscently—“a 
mahogany counter with solid-silver taps. Only real gents came 
there. Gents like you. They used to call me, ‘Miss Harris.’ 
Here it’s ‘Aggie this,’ and ‘Aggie that,’ till I fair forgets that 
I’ve got any other name.” 

“It’s like that with me, too,” murmured the Major. “Why 
did you leave London?” 

“It was the money. I thought I’d be able to save up enough 
in a year or two to buy a pub of my own somewhere in the 
country, back home. But what’s the use of money when every 
decent woman turns up her nose at the sight of me?” 

She buried her face in her hands and sprawled across the 
bar, heedless of the suds of beer, the dregs of many glasses, 
which soiled her lace blouse. 

“Cheer up, Miss Harris, old thing.” The Major placed a 
kindly hand on her shoulder. 

She suddenly sat erect and passed a heavily-scented handker¬ 
chief across her eyes. 

“I’m a fair cut-up, ain’t I?” she giggled. “I had you going 
for fair. Whoop la!” But underneath the gaiety was the 
suggestion of utter despair. 

“Why don’t you go back home? There’s nothing to stop 
you.” 

“A fat lot you know about that. How can I go home 
without money?” 

“But—er—I thought you made a lot?” 

“So I have, but Smith has been keeping it for me. He said 
it would be dangerous for a woman to have a lot of money 
about her in this country. And now he won’t give it to me.” 

“Have you a receipt?” 

“No. I never thought he would play me such a dirty trick. 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


211 


At first I thought he was a gentleman; and then, later, when 
I knew the dirty games he was up to, I thought, at least, 
he’d play square with a poor working girl.” 

“I see. How much money has Smith belonging to you?” 

“Five thousand pounds!” 

The Major whistled. 

Aggie flared up angrily. 

“It’s all honestly earned, too. I may be a poor working girl, 
but I’ve always run straight.” Aggie was unconsciously quot¬ 
ing from her favourite author. 

The Major was all apologies. 

“I never doubted that for a moment, Miss Harris, old top. 
But if you had the money, would you go home?” 

“You’ve said it,” Aggie replied with fervour. “But what’s 
the use of talking? I’m not the sort to whine. I’ve made my 
bed and I must lie in it, and I’m so damned tired I can sleep 
’most anywhere.” 

* * * 

The Major found Jim awaiting him when he returned to 
his tent. 

“I’ve talked with Simba, baas, and with the native police 
at the compounds.” 

“What said Simba?” 

“Ten men of his kraal return to their own place, leaving the 
compound before the setting of to-day’s sun.” 

“So soon? Then Mangwato came just in time.” 

“Perhaps. But it may be that Simba will not live to see 
him.” 

“How so?” 

“He has much money—won at games of chance. This the 
white men plan to get. They have persuaded Simba to wait 
for the rising of the moon, promising to give him much of 
the white man’s drink. One of the white men will meet him 
at the appointed place and take him to where the drink is. 
After they have taken his money—this I had from the native 


212 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


police who are the dogs of the white men—they will kill him, 
making it appear as if he were killed in a drunken fight with 
his own people.” 

“And the other men of Mangwato’s kraal they will not 
touch ?” 

“No, baas, for they are penniless. Simba having won all 
their money.” 

“You know the meeting place?” 

“Aye. It is not far from here. One man will meet Simba 
iand take him to where the others are hidden, fully an hour’s 
trek away, for they dare not be seen or work their evil near 
the trail. It is whispered that the eyes of some of the white 
police have been opened.” 

So it happened that the song which Hawkins, a rat-faced 
little Cockney, was singing to keep up his courage while await¬ 
ing the coming of Simba was rudely interrupted. Without a 
chance for outcry, failing to catch a glimpse of his captors, he 
was bound hand and foot, securely gagged and rolled into a 
thick clump of bush near by. 

A few minutes later Simba, a finely developed native, came 

“Are you there, white man?” he called 
softly. 

“Aye.” A tall figure stepped out of the 
shadows. 

“Then let us go to the place-” 

“I can not take you.” There was fear 
in the white man’s voice. 

“Why not, white man?” 

“Because the police have heard of it— 
even now they are out seeking us.” 

“Au-a! And what would they do to me, white man, should 
they catch me?” 

“Send you back to labour at the mines for another year. 
They have heard that you have won much money at games of 
chance. That is against the law.” 


to the place. 



LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


213 


“That is true, white man,” Simba muttered, “but I did not 
know that it was against the law. I will go.” 

“Aye—go quickly. Do not stop on the way. Let the mor¬ 
row’s sun see you far from this place.” 

“I go, white man. I will not stop.” 

He ran swiftly away with effortless stride; the night swal¬ 
lowed him up. 

A second figure came out of the shadows and joined the 
first. 

“That was well done, baas. Mangwato will be pleased. 
What shall I do now with this jackal, this white man, we have 
bound back yonder?” 

“Untie his hands, Jim. The rest he can see to himself. 
At any rate he can take the gag from his mouth and cry for 
aid. Then, surely, the police will find him and that will be 
well. Come now.” 

They returned to the camp and Jim, contrary to his custom, 
did not go to his blankets by the camp-fire, but followed his 
baas into the tent. 

“What is it?” the Major asked sharply. He wanted to be 
alone with his thoughts, to find the answer to Dorothy’s strange 
desertion. 

Jim fumbled in the cavernous depths of the pocket of one of 
the Major’s discarded great coats he wore—for the night air 
was cold—and from it produced what appeared to be a bundle 
of filthy rags which he held out toward the Major. 

“Mangwato told me to give you this if you succeeded in sav¬ 
ing his son from the evil ones.” 

The Major looked at the bundle in mock horror. 

“Does the chief wish me to become a thing unclean that he 
sends me such a present?” 

“When one is thirsty, baas, it is not well to consider the 
outside of the pot.” 

“Then break the pot, Jim, and let us see its contents.” 

Jim slowly unwound the greasy rags, disclosing what at first 
appeared to be a solid piece of glass, shaped roughly like a 


214 the major—diamond buyer 

paperweight. The Major took it amusedly in his hands and 
was surprised at the weight of it. 

“Nearly three pounds, if I’m any judge. I wonder-” 

He held it up to the light of the oil lamp and examined it 
closely, turning it over and over. 

“I must be dreaming,” he muttered. Then he almost 
dropped it in his excitement. “But it is; it is! There’s no 
doubt about it! And there’s nothing like it under the sun. 
Jim, old top, there’s the price of a kingdom right here in my 
hand, and it’s mine, honestly mine. All the stories about 
Mangwato’s bushel of diamonds are true; this is one of them. 
To-morrow I’ll make an application for a diamond-mining 
permit and when that’s granted I’ll register the discovery of 
the biggest diamond the world has ever known. Jim,” this in 
the vernacular, “don’t you see what this means?” 

“I see nothing but a dirty piece of glass, baas,” Jim replied 
stolidly. 

The Major laughed, a happy, care-free laugh. In his ex¬ 
citement he was a boy once more. 

“Hush, baas,” Jim warned. “Some one is coming here, on 
horseback.” 

The Major sobered instantly and they both listened. 

“The horse is lame, Jim,” the Major commented. 

They heard the rider come up to the tent and dismount and 
then, “May I come in?” sounded in a woman’s voice. 

The Major started at the sound of it, recognizing it as be¬ 
longing to Mrs. Griffin. Thinking that she had news for 
him from Dorothy, he sprang to the flap of the tent and held 
it open so that she could enter. 

She looked about her, half-blinded by the glare of the lamp, 
then sitting down in the camp-chair which the Major pushed 
toward her, buried her face in her hands and began to cry 
softly. 

The Major looked on helplessly. “Do you think you are 
wise coming here at this time of night? I have a bad reputa¬ 
tion, you know.” 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


215 


She looked up quickly. “I know you must think dreadful 
things, but I had to take a desperate chance that you could help 
me—and of course you can’t. No one can.” She started to 
cry again. 

“Don’t you think you’d better allow me to escort you home?” 
the Major said gravely. 

“No. I want to tell you about it first. Dorothy,” the 
Major’s face hardened, “said that if I was ever in trouble you 
would help me. And I saw Colonel Hammond, and he said 
that you’d help me, too, better than he could.” The words 
came tumbling out of her mouth. “Dorothy saw you riding 
with that woman Martha before you. She thought—things. 

She thought you and Martha-that’s why she left in such a 

hurry. She-” 

“Suppose you tell me what’s troubling you,” the Major 
interposed gently, a great light breaking over him. “That 
was nothing for Dorothy to worry about—naturally.” 

“Oh, yes, I know that.” She sat up, her hands clenched 
tightly, seeking control of herself. “It’s about that beast 
Smith—Whispering Smith. I met him first when I was a 
barmaid in Johannesburg. You see, when my father died, 
leaving me penniless, there seemed nothing else I could do. 
Father had, at one time, owned a large saloon and-” 

“I see!” commented the Major. 

“Three years ago I met and married Roger Griffin while I 
was on a holiday at Durban, and never told him I’d served be¬ 
hind a bar.” 

“That was a mistake.” 

“Yes. I know that now. But Roger was proud and comes 
of an old family. To have told him then, I thought, would 
have meant losing him. Well, shortly after we were married 
Roger was smitten with the diamond fever and came up here. 
Smith recognised me at once and I wrote to him, begging him 
to keep my secret. He did not answer and later he accosted 
Roger, when I was with him, and told him that he had known 
me in Johannesburg. That night I wrote to Smith again, 


216 the major—diamond buyer 

making it more urgent than the first. Ever since then he has 
threatened to show those letters to Roger if I refused to do as 
he ordered.” 

“But what harm if he did?” 

“Can’t you see? I didn’t say in the letters what my secret 
was, and you can imagine the vile interpretation Smith would 
make of it. First of all he demanded money as the price of 
his silence and he made me spy on Colonel Hammond—he’s a 
friend of Roger’s—so that he would know his plans in advance. 
Then he made me persuade Roger to invest all his money in 
some worthless mining property. Roger’s trying to sell it now, 
so that we can raise enough money to pay our passage home. 

“This morning Smith said that I must go to him to-morrow 
night. If I don’t he says he’ll give Roger the letters. And 
it’s not that I care about; I believe now Roger would accept 
my explanation without question. But he says that he’s got 
evidence that Roger has been buying diamonds from the na¬ 
tives. I know that’s a lie, for Roger has always detested 
I. D. B.’s. He says they are robbing the Government of a 
legitimate revenue, and so set back the development of the 
Colony.” 

The Major winced. 

“So you think that—er—Roger is not guilty of I. D. B.?” 

“I know he’s not. But that won’t prevent Smith from 
framing a case against him. Smith’s got a lot of influence.” 

She rose wearily to her feet. 

“There, now, I have told my story. I don’t know why, or 
why I came here. There’s nothing you can do. But thank 
you for listening. To-morrow I’ll go to Smith—but I’ll go 
armed.” 

Then, before the Major could answer her, she ran from the 
tent, mounted her horse and rode swiftly toward the town, 
urging her lame mount to his best speed. 

“Jim!” 

The Hottentot, who had left the tent at the first appearance 
of the woman, came running to the call. 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


217 


“What have you heard of the white man, Griffin, Jim?” 

“At the compound, baas, they say Baas Griffin is a good 
man. He treats his men well. But he is a fool. He knows 
nothing of mines. He looks for diamonds in vain. He has 
no money and has not paid his boys for a long time.” 

“Yet they still work for him?” 

> “Aye. They say if their baas thinks there’s diamonds in the 
mine they will keep on working so long as they have food. 
That will not be long.” 

The Major paced up and down the tent for a few minutes. 
At each turn, as he passed the diamond which lay on the table, 
he paused and looked at it. 

“It’s too big,” he said at length. Picking it up, he discovered 
a flaw running right through the centre of it. 

He put the diamond on the camp-table and, opening a large 
hunting-knife, held the blade firmly along the flaw—the line of 
cleavage. 

He then delivered a tremendous blow on the back of the 
btade with the butt of his revolver and the diamond parted in 
two almost equal parts. 

On each side of one of the pieces he pasted a snapshot of him¬ 
self and then put it in his pocket. The other he gave to the 
wondering Jim. 

“You know the mine of the Baas Griffin, Jim.” 

“Yah, baas.” 

“And it is unguarded?” 

“What need to guard ? There is nothing of value in it.” 

* * * 

So engrossed was Whispering Smith at his task of reckoning 
up the days’ work that he did not hear the door of his room 
open and close, but at the click of a key in the lock he turned 
round with an oath and saw—the Major. 

“How the hell did you get in?” he asked belligerently, but 
looked fearfully at the revolver in the Major’s hand. 


218 the major—diamond buyer 

“Oh, it was quite easy to get by your watch-dog, Brimmer. 
The last I saw of him he was shouting drunk.” 

“The fool,” Smith snarled. “That’ll be the end of him. 
Well, what do you want?” 

“The letter written to you by Mrs. Griffin.” 

“So you’re after her, are you?” 

“Don’t make me angry, Smithy, because anger contracts the 
muscles and that would be bad for you. This revolver has a 
light trigger and the slightest contraction of my finger would 
—well, I would hate to be hanged for killing a swine like you. 
Besides, shooting ’d be far too easy a death for you; I’m 
reserving you for better things. Get the letters.” 

Without further word Smith opened a drawer of his desk 
and took out a bulky package of letters. Selecting two, he 
handed them to the Major. The others he was about to put 
back, but the Major held out his hand for them, and Smith 
grudgingly handed them to him. 

“You go in for blackmail wholesale, don’t you, Smithy? 
Well, I’ll see that these are returned to their proper owners. 
You ought to thank me for saving you so much trouble.” 

“Is there anything else you’d like?” Smith’s tone was dan¬ 
gerously quiet. 

“Why yes, now you mention it, there is. Five thousand 
pounds, please.” 

“I haven’t that much money here.” 

“Your check will do. Make it out to A. Harris.” 

“I thought your name was Major?” 

“Does it matter? What’s in a name after all? Make it 
out as I say. And don’t waste any more time. I’m afraid 
Brimmer will come back looking for his drinking partner 
pretty soon, and if he doesn’t find me, he’ll suspect things. 
And that would be very unpleasant—for you.” 

Smith hesitated no longer, but made out the check—he had 
forgotten, if he ever knew, that Aggie’s surname was Harris 
—and handed it to the Major. 

The Major carefully folded it and put it in his pocket. 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 


219 


There was a pounding at the door; voices raised in anger. 

“I must hurry,” the Major exclaimed. “Not a word, Smithy. 
And don’t attempt to cancel this check; I shall be very angry 
if you do.” He crossed to the window. The pounding com¬ 
menced again. “And don’t forget that young Griffin is a 
friend of mine. I wouldn’t attempt to frame him if I were 
you.” He opened the window; he still covered Smith with his 
revolver. “I’d like to stay and go through those celebrated ac¬ 
count books of yours, but,” regretfully, “I haven’t the time 
now. Soon—sooner than you expect—I’ll be back for that. 
Good-bye.” 

He vaulted through the window and vanished into the dark¬ 
ness just as the door burst open and Brimmer, followed by 
several of Smith’s men, burst into the room. 

Next morning the Major dropped in at Smith’s place before 
applying for the mining permit at the registration office. 
Aggie was talking to some men at the other end of the bar, 
but when she saw him, she hurried over. 

Her face was wreathed in smiles and she hummed a gay little 
tune. 

“You’re happy, Miss Harris?” 

“I’m going home, Major, I’m going home. Smith sent me 
a check this morning—and I’ve cashed it and I’ve already 
booked my passage and I’m leaving for Cape Town on the 
night train.” 

“Congratulations, I’m sure, and the best of luck.” 

“Major,” Aggie’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ve half a 
mind that you’re at the back of Smith paying up like this. 
And you’ve always treated me as if I was a lady, so I’m going 
to do a thing for you that I’ve never done before. I’m going 
to squeal on the boys. Listen; you know Cockney Hawkins?” 

The Major nodded. 

“Well, it seems that he and his bunch have got it in for 
you. When you were away from your tent last night, they 
hid some diamonds in your luggage, and one of them followed 
you and your boy to Griffin’s mine, though what you should 


220 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


want there, God only knows. Hawkins went up to the police 
office this morning and said that he had seen you and your 
nigger go to the mine and afterward bury some diamonds in 
your tent. He said that he turned evidence, because you hadn’t 
split fair with him on some other deal. They captured your 
nigger at one of the compounds about an hour ago, and two of 
the police have taken him to your camp.” 

This news staggered the Major. He knew that it would 
be hopeless to try to face the thing out. His reputation would 
not stand for it. 

“You’d better run for it, old dear,” Aggie whispered softly. 
“Come back to England with me. I’ve got enough money to 
buy the pub I was speaking of yesterday and-” 

He took her hand and pressed it gently. 

“You’re a brick, old dear, but I can’t do it, really. I must 
look after Jim. Have you some paper and string? I want to 
wrap up a little present. Oh, yes, and some writing paper 
too.” 

Aggie brought him the things he asked for and the Major 
swiftly wrote a short note. Then, taking from his pocket the 
diamond on which he had pasted his photo, he wrapped it up, 
enclosing with it the letter he had written. This package he 
addressed to Colonel Hammond. 

“Mail this for me, old dear, will you? I’ve no time to 
spare.” 

“All right, Major. Good-bye, and the best of luck!” 

The next issue of The Diamond , Kimberley’s one newspaper, 
had much in it to interest its subscribers. The first extract of 
special interest, headed “A Big Find at the Griffin Mine,” ran 
in part: 

Mr. Griffin’s eye was caught by the gleam of a brilliant object mid¬ 
way up the bank of one of his excavations. Climbing up to it, he 
discovered it was a brilliant crystal. Digging it out, his first thought 
was that some practical joker had planted a large chunk of glass 
there for him to find, for it was so large he knew it could not be a 
diamond. Determined to test the stone on the spot, Griffin rubbed the 
dirt from one of its faces and soon convinced himself that it was not 


LINES OF CLEAVAGE 221 

a lump of glass but a diamond crystal of exceptional whiteness and 
purity. 

Taking it to the office of the registrar, where it was properly cleaned, 
Mr. Griffin found to his happy astonishment that it weighed all of 
three thousand carats; more than three times that of any other 
diamond that has yet been discovered. The diamond is a fragment, 
probably less than half, of a distorted octahedral crystal. Who will 
be the fortunate miner to discover the other portion? 

Mr. Griffin has sold his mine to a syndicate headed by Mr. Smith, 
and will sail with his beautiful wife for England some time this week. 

Another extract was headed: 

The Major Misses a Fortune, but Gets Away. 

Word having been brought to a member of our efficient police force 
that a certain notorious I. D. B., commonly called the Major, was seen 
leaving with his native servant the Griffin mine, steps were at once 
taken to apprehend him. Added zest was given to the chase when 
Hawkins, an old confederate of the Major’s turned queen’s evidence 
and stated that he had watched the Major hide some diamonds in 
his tent. 

Jim, the Major’s Hottentot servant, was arrested at one of the com¬ 
pounds and taken by troopers Blake and Sims to the Major’s tent, in¬ 
tending to make him show where his baas hid the diamonds. 

Suddenly, while they were cross-examining the native, the tent col¬ 
lapsed on top of them, entangling them in its folds. When they finally 
extricated themselves it was to find that their prisoner had vanished, 
their horses galloping back to town; while in the distance, and in the 
opposite direction was a cloud of dust which told only too plainly 
that the Major had escaped the arm of the law once again. 

Colonel Hammond, the chief of police, who is down here on in¬ 
spection duty, tells us that on the day of the Major’s escape he re¬ 
ceived through the mail a large glass paperweight, on the top and 
bottom of which were pasted portraits of the Major. Enclosed with 
the paperweight was the following letter, couched in the Major’s 
well-known style: 

Dear and honoured Chief: 

I foresee that I am about to take a long journey. Will you there¬ 
for accept the enclosed as a memento of, 

I have the honour to be, 

Sir, 

Your Obedient Servant, 

The Major. 

P. S. Some day I shall come back for the paperweight. I hope 

you will keep it safe for me. 

Colonel Hammond is highly delighted with his present and thinks, 
that for once the Major has overreached himself. 

“We have always wanted a portrait of the Major,” he said, “and 


222 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


now I have one that will always be before me when I sit at my desk. 
You may rest assured that when the Major does call for his paper¬ 
weight I will give it to him and,” the colonel added with a sly smile, 
“perhaps I’ll give him something else—who knows?” 

But the Major, the man who had made possible the happiness 
of three people, did not read these extracts. He was with Jim, 
trekking wherever chance dictated, seeking forgetfulness in 
hunting big game. 


CHAPTER IX 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 

W HISPERING SMITH reluctantly admitted to him¬ 
self that he had made a great mistake in withdrawing 
his protection from Sergeant Brimmer. He made a 
still greater mistake when he mailed, anonymously, to the 
Crown Prosecutor such evidence as he had of Brimmer’s un¬ 
lawful operations. That evidence had been sufficient for a 
jury to convict Brimmer on no less than ten counts, any one 
of which carried a penalty big enough to keep the erstwhile 
police sergeant labouring at the Breakwater at Cape Town for 
the rest of his natural life. 

Smith’s regret was a selfish one: Whip felt no feeling of 
sorrow or pity for the man who had been his loyal henchman 
for so many years. His conscience did not trouble him at the 
thought that Brimmer was doomed to a life of hard labour 
solely because he had faithfully carried out Smith’s own instruc¬ 
tions. Brimmer had not executed any one of the crimes on his 
own initiative; every one, and many others which had not been 
uncovered at the trial, had sprung from the fertile brain of 
Smith. 

However, Smith was not the sort of man to cry over spilt 
milk. He had brains, and he was big enough to admit—to 
himself—that he had made a mistake when, actuated solely by 
a fit of pique, he had had the police sergeant put away. 

Brimmer had been an extremely valuable man. As a plain¬ 
clothes detective he had been able to get inside information on 
many of the plans whereby the police fondly hoped to round up 
criminals; and Smith, by passing on such warnings as the in- 


223 


224 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

formation warranted, had been able to solidify still further his 
hold on the threatened men. 

Then, too, Brimmer had been useful in other ways. For in¬ 
stance, when a man refused to ally himself with Smith or 
threatened in any way to kick over the traces, a frame-up organ¬ 
ized by the worthy Brimmer never, or hardly ever, failed to 
bring the balky one to reason. And now this worthy and most 
valuable henchman was lost to Smith, and he had no one to 
blame but himself. 

After having admitted to himself that he had made a mis¬ 
take, Smith set himself to rectify it. By pulling the many 
strings which led from his office to men who sat in high places 
—as well as those in the gutters—he attempted to arrange 
for Brimmer’s retrial, complete exoneration and restoration to 
duty. 

But, for once, Smith seemed powerless. He was compelled 
to abandon the attempt, for some of the strings snapped and 
their recoil came dangerously near to him. He didn’t wish to 
call attention to himself; he had a big game afoot. He was 
playing for large stakes that would make all that he had done 
hitherto seem like snatching candy from a child. 

He was philosophical about this defeat, when, from his dirty 
little office at the back of his very ornate saloon in Kimberley, 
he began to spin his web, inviting the members of the police 
force to walk into it. He offered many inducements, all hav¬ 
ing to do with great wealth and a life of ease—that is, if 
one had no conscience to trouble him. 

But for a long time, so long indeed that Smith had almost 
resigned himself to the fact that he would be compelled to 
dispense with an ear inside the police councils, the only response 
to his invitation seemed to be, “Not to-day, Mr. Longshanks; 
I have other fish to fry.” 

Brimmer’s arrest and imprisonment had proved even more 
disastrous to Smith’s plans than he had feared. With such an 
example before them, those of the police who were not already 
honest changed their old policy for the best one. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


225 


And then Trooper “Rat” Snyder was sentenced to ten days 
C. B. for insubordination; “Silent Contempt,” the charge read. 
For ten days the Rat was confined to barracks, deprived of 
everything—wine, women, and song, but mostly wine—which 
made life in this “blawsted ’ell ’ole they calls Kimberley,” 
worth living. 

Rat spent the ten days dwelling on his grievances, in dream¬ 
ing of the happy days of his youth in the slums of London, 
cursing the events which led to his forced departure from those 
happy hunting grounds, and planning revenge on the corporal 
who had been responsible for getting him put on the “peg.” 

On the eleventh day Rat Snyder hastened townward with a 
ten-day thirst to assuage. 

Not far from the police camp he was accosted by a pretty, 
dark-haired girl whose wide-open eyes held an innocent baby 
stare. 

“Where are you going, Trooper?” she asked with a slight 
lisp. 

The Rat scowled, recognizing her at once. Photographs, 
full face and profile, of her were on the police bulletin board 
with a terse summary of her achievements and convictions on 
the other side. As a pickpocket she was supreme although, so 
far, she had not been suspected of plying her trade since coming 
to South Africa. 

“You ortter get shut o’ that lisp, dearie,” the Rat said. “It’s 
a fair give away.” 

“Yeth?” she smiled. “That’s what a lot of people tell me. 
Perhaps you could teach me how.” 

She placed her hand on his and looked appealingly up into 
his little, red-rimmed eyes; her long, sensitive fingen; tapped a 
light tattoo on his wrist. 

He shook her off roughly. 

“That’s not nith,” she said with a pout. Then giggled. 

“Wot are yer grinnin’ at?” the Rat asked suspiciously. 

“Becauth you’re so croth. Are you afraid your beth girl 
will thee you?” 


226 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Ain’t got no girl, don’t want one, neither. I’m in a ’urry. 
I’m thirsty.” 

“Poor boy!” She almost cooed the words. “Tho am I.” 

“Go an’ buy yerself a drink, then. You’ve got plenty o’ 
money—or know ’ow to get it. I ain’t, an’ can’t.” 

She sighed. “I know.” 

She opened her purse and emptied a number of gold pieces 
into her hand and shook them. 

The Rat’s eyes glinted at the golden jingle. He looked 
around to see if there was any one in sight. The long dusty 
street was deserted, and he chuckled softly. It would be so 
easy to help himself to the girl’s money, and then arrest her for 
something or other. That’d be killing two birds with one 
stone, and the thought rather intrigued him. He hadn’t made 
an arrest yet, and he fancied the feeling of authority it would 
give him. 

He moved toward her, then jumped back with a sucking in¬ 
take of breath; his jaw dropped. From some mysterious hiding 
place the girl had produced a small, but very business-like re¬ 
volver which was aimed unwaveringly at the pit of his stomach; 
her eyes had become suddenly hard and cruel. 

“Wot’s the gime?” the Rat asked in tones of injured inno¬ 
cence. 

“I’m dwy. I want a dwink. Won’t you buy me one?” 

“Course I will,” he responded promptly. “Yer don’t ’ave 
to pull the ’ands-up game to make me stand treat to a pretty 
lady. But where’ll we go?” 

“Whip Smith’s place.” The revolver disappeared beneath a 
sea of billowing lace. 

The Rat shook his head. “I can’t go there. That’s out of 
bounds. Besides, ’e charges like ’ell. Only toffs can afford 
to go there.” 

She took his arm confidingly. 

“Oh, come along,” she teased. “Here’s thome money, all I 
have is yourths.” 

She forced open one of his not too tightly clenched fists and 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


227 


dropped the gold pieces into his grimy palm. His hand closed 
on them quickly, as if fearing she would demand their return, 
put them in the canvas money belt 
strapped about his waist, and he 
grinned triumphantly. 

The Rat had changed subtly 
from a downtrodden, sulky man 
into a conceited, overbearing 
bully. The whine vanished from 
his voice. His apparently easy 
and total conquest of this beau¬ 
tiful daughter of joy went to his 
head, but then he’d always been 
“such a one wiv the women.” 

“I’ll buy yer a drink an’ welcome,” he announced magnani¬ 
mously, “but I ain’t a-goin’ wiv yer to no Whispering Smith’s. 
I’ve ’eard too much abart that blighter. Besides, as I’ve told 
yer, the bloomin’ plice is hout o’ bounds.” 

She sighed somewhat impatiently. “We can thit at a nith 
little table in the corner and no one will thee us. What do you 
care for the narthty old regulations—a big man like you? I’d 
like to thee any corporal or thargeant twy to make twouble for 
you.” She gave no sign that she was conscious of the Rat’s 
sudden start and the stiffening of his muscles at the mention 
of his deadliest enemies—corporals and sergeants—but contin¬ 
ued blithely: “I know you could pick one up in each hand 
and knock their thilly heads together. You’d be a corporal, 
too, and perhaps a sergeant, if they weren’t tho jealouth, 
wouldn’t you?” 

“Yus,” he admitted bitterly. “They’ve all got it in for me, 
they have. Alius pickin’ on me.” 

“Oh!” The little scream and realistic shudder were very 
complimentary to the Rat’s fierceness. “You’re tho big and 
stwong, they wouldn’t dare thay anything to you even if they 
did thee you in Smith’s.” 

It may have been the appeal of her voice, her flatteries, her 





228 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

piquant face and full, over-rouged lips; or perhaps his fears 
were lulled by the strong scent of jasmine—its effect was al¬ 
most narcotic—with which she had drenched herself. But 
whatever the cause, Snyder’s capitulation was sudden and ab¬ 
solute. 

“All right,” he said with gay insouciance. “I don’t care if 
we does.” 

He cocked his helmet jauntily over one ear and unbuttoned 
the collar of his tunic to express his defiance of regulations. 

“You’re tho brave,” she murmured as they strolled lazily 
toward the dorp. 

On arriving at Whispering Smith’s place Snyder lost some 
of his confidence, and hesitated about entering. 

“It don’t seem proper like for me to go in there,” he ob¬ 
jected. “I ’ears as ’ow some of the big bugs of the diamond 
syndicate go there sometimes.” And this was true, for Smith 
did not allow his many criminal activities to jeopardize his 
reputation for purveying the best drinks in town. Nominally, 
Smith was an honest saloon-keeper and a respected citizen. 

“Suppose you go in hand ’ave yer drink alone,” the Rat con¬ 
tinued. “I’ll wait for yer here.” 

He held out a shilling toward her. 

But she caught hold of his wrist, and with considerably more 
strength than he had given her credit f^r, pulled him in through 
the swing.doors of the barroom. 

“There,” the girl said as she sat down opposite the discom¬ 
fited trooper. “No one’s going to thee you here. Now order 
me a dwink.” 

She clapped her hands and one of the barmaids, her nose 
uptilted in scornful derision, came up to them and wiped the 
table top with an insulting flaunt of a dirty towel. 

“Two whiskys, miss,” Snyder said, his voice thick with em¬ 
barrassment. This place had too much class for him. His 
eyes.were downcast, and so he did not see the exchange of winks 
between the girl with a lisp and the barmaid. 

Time passed quickly and the barmaid made frequent visits 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


229 

to the table and with each visit Snyder’s voice grew more confi¬ 
dent, much thicker, but not with embarrassment. 

Then, when he became maudlinly sentimental, the girl rose. 

“Where yer goln’ ?” he asked, grabbing at her dress. 

She lightly evaded him. “I want to thee a friend over 
there.” She nodded to a far corner of the room, but Snyder, 
though he peered hard in that direction, could distinguish noth¬ 
ing through the wreaths of smoke. 

“You’ll come back?” he demanded. 

“Yeth, of course,” and with a flounce of her skirts, which 
seemed to release a heavy cloud of jasmine, hastened away. 

Snyder, the Rat, watched her until she was lost to his sight 
in the haze of tobacco smoke, then pounded on the table for 
another drink. 

The girl had passed through a small door at the far end of 
the room, and now stood on the far side of a cumbersome roll¬ 
top desk at which sat a medium-sized man dressed in a suit of 
sombre black. 

“Well, Martha,” he whispered huskily, stroking his long, 
thin nose with fingers which glistened with diamonds. “What 
is it?” 

“I’ve got a policeman for you,” she replied, and now there 
was no trace of a lisp in her voice. 

He looked up with interest. “Is he any good ?” 

She made an expressive moue and answered noncommittally, 
“He’ll obey orders, if you frighten him enough.” 

The man’s thin lips tightened. “Has he brains?” 

“No, but-” 

“Never mind the buts,” he interrupted harshly. “Brimmer 
had brains and tried to use ’em. See where they landed him. 
I want a man who can’t think for himself; a man who’ll be con¬ 
tent to simply obey orders.” 

“Then Rat Snyder ought to please you, boss.” 

“The Rat, eh!” Smith’s eyes glistened unpleasantly. “He 
hasn’t the guts to run crooked. He’d squeal at the first sign of 
pressure.” 


230 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The girl was silent. She knew that there was little chance 
of any one squealing to the police about Whispering Smith. He 
always saw to it that his creatures had no proof to back up 
any accusations, which they, to save their own skins, might 
make. The men, and women, who had squealed in the years 
gone by, had not lived long. 

“How did you get hold of the Rat?” he now asked. 

“The same way I got the others. Only difference is, that 
they refused to come into your saloon. He’s out there now. 
I’ve been drinking with him. God, how I hate the weak tea 
Betty’s been serving me instead of whisky. I must have drunk 
a quart of it in the la^t hour.” 

Smith smiled sardonically. “You wouldn’t be half as clever 
if you drank whisky—drink for drink—with your male friends. 
So Snyder’s drunk, eh? Not much use talking to him in that 
state, is there?” 

“He’s not drunk—only talkative. He can hold more booze 
than any other man I’ve met.” 

“All right. Tell Deemster to bring him in here.” 

“Deemster’ll need help, boss. Snyder’s a big man. He’s as 
big as the Dutchman.” 

“Piet can get help if he needs it, can’t he? And without 
any advice from me?” 

The girl flounced out of the room and Smith took his large 
scrapbook from one of the drawers of his desk, and turned the 
pages slowly. 

When he came to a page in the book whereon was pasted a 
full-length photo of Rat Snyder in a boxer’s costume, he leaned 
back in his chair, his lips pursed, eyes half closed, and waited 
patiently. 

Presently there was a scuffling noise outside. The door was 
suddenly thrown open and two big stolid-faced Dutchmen en¬ 
tered with Snyder struggling ineffectually between them. 

The Rat was inarticulate with rage and fear. 

Smith looked up placidly. “What’s the trouble, Piet?” he 
asked mildly. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


231 


“Trouble enough, boss,” the black-bearded Dutchman re¬ 
plied. “This verdoemte skellum tried to pass the greasy 
stuff.” 

He threw two golden coins on the desk before Smith—they 
made a leaden sound. 

“Counterfeit, eh?” Smith said, picking the pieces up and ex¬ 
amining them closely. “Where did you get these, Trooper?” 

“A skirt gave ’em to me,” the Rat exclaimed excitedly. “A 
saucy little piece of fluff with a lisp, so help me!” 

Smith looked at the two Dutchmen inquiringly. 

They guffawed loudly.. .“Allemachtig! What a liar!” ex¬ 
claimed one. 

“It’s you wot’s the bleedin’ liar,” Snyder retorted hotly. “I 
tell yer a girl give ’em to me, and I brought ’er in here for a 
drink. S’elp me, I wish I ’adn’t.” 

“There was no girl with him, boss,” the Dutchman, Deem¬ 
ster, interrupted heavily. “He was drinking alone. Two of 
the greasy pieces he gave for drinks.” 

“See if he has any more of them on him.” 

Indifferent to Snyder’s struggles, practically unconscious of 
them, the two searched him with a thoroughness which evi¬ 
denced much practise, and produced five more of the golden 
coins and a handful of silver. 

“I tell you a girl give ’em to me,” Snyder repeated hoarsely 
as Smith looked accusingly at him. 

“Perhaps there’s been some mistake,” Smith said to the 
Dutchmen. “I’ll have a talk with this man—alone.” 

Without a word they silently left the room, and when Sny¬ 
der, panic stricken, would have followed them, they shut the 
door in his face. They must have locked it, for, though he 
tried hard enough, he was unable to open it. Snyder was 
caught in the outer fringe of Smith’s net. 

“I wouldn’t make so much noise, if I were you,” Smith sug¬ 
gested quietly. “If some of your comrades of the force hap¬ 
pened to come by, you’d be in a hell of a mess. First for being 
here—my saloon’s out of bounds, you know—and then, of 


232 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

course, I’d have to give you in charge for passing counterfeit 
money.” 

Snyder instantly ceased his kicking and pounding at the 
door; his loud curses and blasphemies stopped abruptly as he 
turned round and glared at Smith with his shifty, rat-like eyes. 

“What do yer want?” he asked sullenly. 

“A little chat. It isn’t often I have a chance to talk with a 
crooked prizefighter and a wife beater.” 

Smith pointed to the open page of his book. 

The Rat came nearer to the desk and looked over Smith’s 
shoulder with an expression of pride on his face. “They’ve 
got a lot to say about me, ’aven’t they?” he smirked. “An’ 
you’ve got it all down there? Wot do yer know about that. 
I’ve ’eard all about your book. But clubbin’ yer woman over 
the ’ead ain’t a capital charge. They can’t extradite me—she 
didn’t die. You can’t scare me by ’oldin’ that over me ’ead.” 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Smith said dryly. “But don’t 
forget that you’d find it very hard to explain that counterfeit 
money.” 

Snyder became panicky again. 

“What do yer want?” he repeated hoarsely. 

“Just a little talk.” 

“ ’Oow can I tork standin’ up like this? Ain’t yer got an¬ 
other chair a bloke can sit in?” 

Smith ignored him—his was the only chair in the office. He 
preferred that his visitors should stand; thus they appeared be¬ 
fore him in the role of suppliants. 

“You’ve heard of Sergeant Brimmer?” he continued. 

“Yus. But you ain’t planning to do fer me as you did fer 
’im are yer?” 

“Yes,” Smith answered, and smiled. 

“But, why? I never done you no ’arm, guvnor.” 

“You haven’t the guts,” Smith said contemptuously. “What 
I meant was this: I’m prepared to pull the string that’ll get 
you promoted sergeant, and as for the rest—why that all de¬ 
pends how you behave.” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


233 


The Rat’s eyes gleamed. “Lumme! Do yer mean it guv’- 
nor? Me a sergeant and a plain clothes swaddy! I won’t 
arf give that corporal wot put me in the peg ’ell!” 

“But first you’ve got to show me that you’re worth it.” 

Snyder’s face fell. “Oh! I knew there was a do in it 
somewhere,” he grumbled. Then brightened. “What?” 

Smith looked at him narrowly before answering, “Put the 
Major out of the way.” 

“The Major?” 

“Yes,” impatiently. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” 

Snyder grinned. “Lumme, yes. He seems ter be a little 
Godalmighty round ’ere. And ’e’s only a monocled dude, I 
keeps a-tellin’ them.” 

“You’ve seen him?” 

“Hell, no!” The Rat spat contemptuously. “But I’ve 
’eard them torkin’ about ’im. It’s ‘Major this,’ and ‘Major 
that,’ till his name fair makes me sick. Is that hall yer want 
me ter do? Put a silly-ass Johnny out?” 

“Out for keeps, I mean,” Smith explained. 

“Yer mean—kill ’im?” 

Smith nodded and Snyder’s face lengthened. “Ow! 
That’s something different. They ’ang men for murder, an’ 
’anging’s a nasty way to die.” 

“But if you shot him while he was resisting arrest,” Smith 
suggested. “That wouldn’t be murder, and you’d be promoted 
sergeant. You’d get all the easy money Brimmer used to get, and 
would be getting now if he hadn’t played the fool with me.” 

The Rat’s face was contorted in his effort to think. 

“Do you want Brimmer’s job?” Smith asked suddenly. 

“Yus,” the Rat answered after a moment’s hesitation, “if 
this job o’ getting the Major’s a safe un.” 

“Safe enough, if you work it the way I tell you. The 
Major’s up in the Vaal district now, ‘resting’ as he calls it. 
All you have to do is to get him alone and drill a hole in him. 
They’ll have to believe your version of the affair because you’ll 
make sure there are no witnesses—see?” 


234 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The Rat was a coward, but he had no foolish compunctions 
about murder, in theory, at least, and as long as his own neck 
was safe. The objection he now made was rather the fruits 
of his indolence than his reluctance to kill. 

“Wouldn’t framing him with a diamond and gettin’ ’im 
sent to the Breakwater please yer just as well ?” 

“No!” Smith snarled furiously. “Don’t you go try any 
monkey business of that sort. That’s how Brimmer got in 
wrong. It’d take a much smarter man than you to frame the 
Major properly. I’m the only man who could do that, and I 
haven’t the time or the inclination. No!” He consulted his 
book again. “You’ve got the reputation of being a good re¬ 
volver shot. That’s your line. Get as close as you can, the 
closer the better. And no shots in the back. Your story’ll 
be that he drew and fired first. You can fix up the necessary 
evidence afterward. Do you see?” 

Snyder nodded. Everything seemed so far away; he could 
have agreed to anything at that moment. Yet he wondered, 
vaguely, nor troubled to deny it, how Smith got the information 
that he was a good revolver shot. 

“That’s all right then,” Smith exclaimed. “But mind, now, 
no tricks. And, if you fail, there’ll be these to explain.” 

He toyed with the golden coins on his desk. 

“I sha’n’t fail,” the Rat said confidently—he’d take good 
care to get up very close indeed. Then, struck by a sudden 
thought, he added, “But ’ow am I to get near the Major w’en 
’e’s hup in the Vaal district?” 

“You’ll apply for a transfer in the morning. They’ll be 
glad to get rid of you.” 

“Lumme! Fink of everything, don’t yer? But ’ow am I 
goin’ ter know ’im w’en I see ’im. ’Ave yer thought o’ that?” 

“Here.” Smith took down another book which, as he 
placed it on his desk, fell open at a much bethumbed page cov¬ 
ered with sketches of a tall man with a smooth, round face and 
high forehead, immaculately dressed and wearing a monocle. 
Apparently he was a dude; his face was vacuous, inane almost. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


235 

But even these pictures did not altogether fail to register some¬ 
thing stern, yet intensely likeable about the man. 

The Rat, seeing only the foppish clothes and on them basing 
his judgment, swore mirthfully. “Is that the man that’s led 
the perlice such a ’ell of a chase all these years?” 

Smith smiled caustically. He had crossed wits with the 
Major too often to be misled by exteriors. 

“Lumme!” went on Snyder, proving that he was not entirely 
unobservant. “Momma’s pet’s got a fightin’ jaw on ’im. I 
bet it’s a glass ’un, though. One biff on that”—he made a 
vicious swipe with his big fist at an imaginary opponent— 
“ ’ud kill ’im as easy as a bullet, an’ it wouldn’t be so messy 
like.” 

Again Smith smiled and, he was luckier in portraits of the 
Major than the police, turned the pages, showing a lot of 
photographs of the gentleman in various disguises—as a trader, 
as an old prospector, as a half-caste (this a truly marvelous 
get-up) and as a drunken miner. 

“Let me ’old the book a minute, will yer, guv’nor,” the Rat 
asked breathlessly. “I want ter ’ave a good squint at that 
bloke. I wants ter know ’im w’en I sees ’im.” 

Smith hesitated a moment and then, with a shrug of his 
shoulders, gave the ponderous tome to the Rat. 

“Go and sit down in that corner over there,” he said with a 
wave of his hand, “and see that you don’t get the pages dirty.” 
Mumbling something about, “bein’ treated like a kid,” the Rat 
lowered his lanky frame to the floor, leaned back against the 
wall and concentrated on the photographs of the Major. 

“I fink I’ll know ’im w’en I see ’im,” he announced presently. 
“Once I sees a man’s photo, it’s funny-like, but I can always 
remember wot ’e looks like an’ can recognize ’im—no matter 
’ow long after I’ve seen ’is photo.” 

Smith looked up with interest. The Rat was showing some 
glimmerings of intelligence. Of course he was boasting, 
still— 

“Is that so?” Smith commented. “Then you had better 


236 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 


look at some of the other photographs. No telling when you 
may run across a man—or woman—who’s listed in this book. 
And when you do, remember this : Report his whereabouts to 
me. I’ll deal with him. See?” 

“Yus, guv’nor,” the Rat said meekly, but his eyes glowed 
avariciously. 

* * * 

“Jim,” drawled the Major, “I’m getting terribly bored with 
this bally hunting trip. I feel the urge for music, laughter and 
excitement.” 

“Yah, baas,” assented the Hottentot gravely. “ ’Citement— 
damn true.” 

The Major chuckled. “What an old fraud and all you 
are, Jim. You look so deuced wise and yet you don’t under¬ 
stand a word I’m saying, do you?” 

He shouted the question and Jim, looking up with a start, 
almost dropped the white silk shirt, on which he was sewing a 
button, into the red dust of the veld. 

“Golly! No, baas,” he stammered. “Und’stand? Yes. 
Do you?” Then in the vernacular, he added, “The baas 
was saying?” 

“The baas was saying,” the Major replied, also in the ver¬ 
nacular, “that he is tired of talking to himself and of doing 
nothing. To-morrow we start on the trek for the big dorp.” 

Jim’s face registered dismay. “Only a little while ago the 
baas said that he was tired of the dorp and the talk of men who 
could only speak lies.” 

The Major sighed. “I know. I must be getting old, Jim.” 

“Au-a! In Chaka’s time a man no younger than the baas 
would have been counted old enough to be a warrior, and not 
until a man had lived four or five years longer than the baas 
would he have been permitted to take a second wife. No. 
The baas is not old, yet.” 

“Very old, Jim, for do not old people always cry for what 
they have not ?” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


237 


“So do children.” 

“But I am no child. Therefore, to-morrow we trek for the 
dorp.” 

“The baas has spoken. But here”—Jim’s gesture embraced 
the boundless bush veld, the patches of waving elephant grass, 
the distance-blued hills, the smoke from the cooking fires of 
distant kraals—“here, baas, there is room to breathe; here a 
man can walk freely.” 

“True, Jim. And here a man grows old before his time, 
because to-morrow will be like to-day which is the same as 
yesterday. Here nothing happens.” 

“A u-a!” 

Jim’s expression was one of intense disgust, and his eyes 
wandered to the skin of a lion pegged out near by; to the bulky 
carcass of a kudu bull; to the duiker which was roasting at the 
fire. The three animals had fallen that morning, and the 
Major had only used three cartridges. The lion he had 
dropped not thirty feet from where he and Jim had stood wait¬ 
ing the charge. Surely, Jim thought, that was enough excite¬ 
ment for any man. Even he, veteran hunter though he was, 
had experienced a thrill, fearing that his baas was delaying his 
shot too long. 

The Major shook his head. “The shot which killed the 
duiker would have killed the lion, Jim,” he said. “What dif¬ 
ference?” 

“Great difference, baas. If the baas had missed the duiker 
he had only to whistle and the duiker would have stopped its 
flight and the baas could have shot again. But, had the baas 
missed the lion, he would never have whistled again.” 

“True, wise one, but I did not miss.” 

The two men were silent for a little while. Then the Ma¬ 
jor said with a bantering laugh, “Soon the sun will have set, 
Jim, but I do not see the mounted policeman who was to have 
been here. Your ears are lying to you, your eyes see things 
that are not. You, too, are getting old, Jim.” 

Chagrined, not a little alarmed, Jim sprang to his feet and, 


238 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

with wide-open, unshaded eyes looked directly toward the set¬ 
ting sun. 

“I had forgotten, baas, all about that man. He has not 
come, no; but he was coming, yes. My eyes and my ears are 
still my servants; they did not deceive me. I heard the beat 
of his horse hooves, I saw the dust. And he was riding this 
way—fast.” 

“But I saw nothing, Jim, I heard nothing.” 

“And is that strange, baas?” 

“No, not strange.” 

The Major had never ceased to wonder at the marvellous de¬ 
velopment of the Hottentot’s senses. His eyes had an almost 
telescopic vision; his ears were attuned to the faintest whisper. 
From amidst a herd of cattle, Jim could distinguish the lowing 
of his baas’s beasts; when following game, an apparently casual 
examination of the spoor was sufficient to tell Jim the number 
of animals in the herd they were following, species, approximate 
size of leader, the distance they were ahead. Indeed, the 
secrets which the veld and the animals of the veld guard so 
carefully from the majority of men were an open book to Jim. 

So the Major had not questioned the Hottentot when he had 
said, earlier in the afternoon, “By sundown a mounted police¬ 
man will be here,” but had ordered Jim to cook extra food— 
policemen are always hungry. Yet it seemed, now, that Jim 
had been wrong. If not, then the man should by now have 
been visible to the Major. 

“I made no mistake, baas,” Jim muttered. “He was riding 
fast this way. It was the same policeman I saw at the ivinkel 
yesterday. When I heard him speak your name I would have 
spoken to him, but he turned away as one not wishing to be 
seen. Later I saw him on a gray horse. It was that same 
man I saw riding this way when I said that, a policeman would 
be here before sundown.” 

“But you could not see the colour of the man’s horse, Jim, 
surely?” 

The Hottentot chuckled. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


239 


“Nay, baas. Even Jim’s eyes are not so good. But the man 
was a poor rider and so his horse could not make its proper 
gait. Ta-tot tot tot, ta-tot tot tot it went.” 

“But the man is not here, Jim; no man is in sight. Neither 
can we hear the beat of a horse’s hooves.” 

“No, baas,” the Hottentot agreed absently. 

He turned slowly so that he was facing north, and idly 
glanced at the veld beyond the camp. Presently his brows knit 
in a puzzled frown, his nostrils dilated and, as the Major was 
about to speak, he held up his hand for silence. 

The Major relaxed and watched Jim with mirthful curios¬ 
ity. “I suppose the old fraud’s goin’ to find some plausible ex¬ 
planation to cover his error about seeing and hearing the police¬ 
man,” he muttered, “and I must pretend to be convinced or 
he’ll be terribly hurt.” 

“The baas is very tired,” Jim said suddenly. 

“Not very, Jim.” 

The Hottentot nodded his head vigorously. “Yah! Very 
tired, baas. You will lie down behind this—” He pointed 
to an outcropping of rock four or five feet away. 

The Major looked in dismay at his spotlessly white, fault¬ 
lessly creased duck trousers. 

“They can be washed, baas, and the need is great. Besides, 
see, I will put down a blanket.” 

“Is it a game, Jim?” 

“Of a sort, baas. Now come. Remember, you are very 
tired.” 

The Major rose slowly from his camp stool, yawned and 
stretched himself lazily, then slouching out to the outcropping 
of rock, lay down on the blanket which Jim had spread for him. 

“And you, Jim, what will you do?” 

“I go down to the river for water, baas. Do not move until 
I give the word. The baas promises?” 

“I promise,” the Major said with portentous gravity. “But 
do not be too long, Jim. This is beastly uncomfortable.” 

“In a few days the baas will be at the dorp ” Jim said sar- 


240 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

castically. “There he can sleep on feathers and have a roof 
over his head. Then he can forget all this,” Jim gestured ex¬ 
pressively with his hands, “nothingness. Now I go. The 
baas’s rifle is close to his hand, and it is well to kill the snake 
which crawls toward one.” 

He picked up a canvas water bucket and, singing a barbaric 
chant, strolled leisurely down the native path leading to the 
river. He quickly clambered down the steep bank onto the 
hard sandy bed. It was in the dry season and, save for an oc¬ 
casional pool, the river was dry. 

Jim’s actions from this time on would surely have astounded 
his baas, who long since had schooled himself to accept all that 
Jim did without question. Certainly had he seen Jim drop 
the water bucket and run up-stream with great speed, he 
would have thought his companion of many a daring escapade 
had gone suddenly mad. 

Even so, the Major was greatly puzzled by Jim’s last state¬ 
ment. “Wonder what the old chap is drivin’ at,” he mur¬ 
mured. “Kill the snake which crawls toward one. Sounds 
like one of the proverbs I used to write in a copy book years 
and years ago. Is the old bounder just pulling my leg? Ah, 
well, it’s just as well to be prepared.” He reached out his 
hand and took up his rifle which Jim had placed conveniently 
near. “Whatever it is, if it’s anything,” he continued, “will 
come from that direction.” He shifted his position slightly so 
that by raising his head just a little he could see over the top 
of the outcrop and get a view of the veld to the north. 

Tinie passed. The shadows lengthened rapidly; in a little 
while the whole veld would be covered by one large shadow, by 
a mantle of darkness. Already some of the lesser night beasts 
were disturbing the stillness with their cries. The mules 
which drew the Major’s Cape cart, their bellies swollen with 
the sweet veld grass, returned in solemn file to the camp. Be¬ 
hind them, kicking playfully, was the Major’s coal-black stal¬ 
lion, Satan. 

As the horse neared the Major his gait became instantly 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


241 


sober and sedate, and he whinnied softly in answer to his 
master’s soft chirruping noises. A bell-bird tonked musically; 
a vagrant gust of wind blew the smoke from the fire toward the 
Major, carrying with it the pleasing odour of roasting meat 
and the tang of burning wood. That same breeze, too, was 
laden with the beating of tom-toms and the fragment of a weird 
minor cadence from some distant kraal. The heavy night dew 
began to fall and the crisp air was filled with the scent of 
freshly watered soil. 

Then the Major knew that his expressed desire for the flesh- 
pots of the city was only a passing whim, a reaction from an 
over-indulgence in Nature’s most prized gifts. He had been 
deafened by the loud beating of a distant drum which had 
drowned, for the moment, the sweeter music at hand. 

“But I’ll let old Jim stew for a while longer,” he mused. 
“I won’t tell him until the morning that we’re not going back. 
I wonder what little trick the old swanker is planning to play 
on me. It’ll be dark in a few minutes, and I’m bally hungry. 
If he doesn’t come soon that buck will be done too much. 

“I wonder what ails Satan and the mules!” 

The animals were all facing toward the north and were ob¬ 
viously very uneasy. 

“Must be the snake, at last,” muttered the Major and, as 
suddenly and completely as if he had taken a mask from his 
face, the inane, vacuous look vanished. His eyes hardened, 
seemed to change colour—from the light blue to the steel gray 
—his lips tightened, his fighting jaw became more pronounced. 
But there was no other change, nothing to indicate that he was 
ready for anything to happen, and prepared to meet the charge 
of a rogue elephant—or man. His muscles were all relaxed, 
his breathing was normal and he seemed to be void of all mo¬ 
tion, save that the first finger of his right hand toyed with the 
trigger of his rifle. 

Then the raucous cry of a Go-away bird sounded three times. 

“That’s Jim! How did he get there?” 

Again the cry of the bird sounded, it seemed, from a patch 


242 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

of elephant grass not far to the north of the camp. And then 
silence, a heavy silence. 

After a time the Major cautiously raised his white helmet on 
a stick above the rock. It reflected strangely the last ray of 
light from the setting sun. 



The silence was broken by the vicious crack of a revolver, 
and a cloud of dust flew up about five feet to the right of the 
Major. 

The shot was echoed by a bedlam of noise from the direction 
of the nearest clump of elephant grass; the wild fighting yells 
of Jim, the Hottentot, mingled with the oaths and blasphemies 
of a white man. 

The Major sprang to his feet, and ran with deer-like speed 
toward the noise of conflict. He discovered Jim struggling 
with a tall, loose-limbed white man dressed in the uniform of 
a mounted policeman. 

“Hands up,” the Major ordered curtly as the policeman, 
having succeeded in throwing Jim with a well executed “flying 
mare” stooped quickly to pick up the revolver which he had 
dropped during the scuffle. 

The man hesitated, weighing the chances of making a dive 
for his weapon and securing it before the Major could aim and 
pull the trigger of the rifle which he was holding so carelessly. 

The Major, reading the other’s thoughts, continued in a soft, 
lazy drawl, “I’m not a bad shot, really. And I can shoot 
just as well from the—er—hip as from the shoulder. Perhaps 
you don’t know, and you ought to know, but this rifle has a 
hair trigger—if you know what I mean. For instance.” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


243 


There was a report and the policeman’s helmet flew from 
his head as if pulled by invisible wires. Yet the policeman 
could have sworn that the Major had not moved. 

“My Gawd!” he exclaimed in awed tones as Jim, who had 
recovered from his fall, picked up the helmet and proudly 
pointed to the holes in its crown. “Don’t do that again, 
mister.” 

“I’m sorry, old man,” the Major said in tones of mock 
apology. “Of course I should have called my shot, and I would 
have done just that but, don’t you know, I’d look such a silly 
ass if I missed. Pick up the revolver, Jim, and perhaps you’ll 
lead the way back to camp. The duiker must be cooked by 
now, and as our long-expected guest has arrived we’ll have 
skoff at once.” 

This last was in the vernacular and as Jim handed the 
policeman’s revolver to the Major, he said with a grin, “My 
ears and my eyes did not lie to me, baas,” then returned to the 
camp. 

“You will follow him if you don’t mind, dear heart,” the 
Major said. “And I hope you won’t object if I rest my rifle 
—it’s so frightfully heavy—against the small of your back. 
An’ I hope you don’t stumble, or I don’t because my finger will 
be on the trigger all the time. It’s a hair trigger, you know. 
But I think that I’ve already told you that. No?” ' 

“You don’t ’ave to keep me covered all the time like this, 
guv’nor,” the policeman expostulated. “I’ll go quietly.” 

“Um! One would think that I’d arrested you, and, judg¬ 
ing by the way you said, ‘I’ll go quietly,’ I should venture to 
say that you really have been arrested more than once or twice. 
Well, let’s toddle along. We’ll have plenty of time for talk 
after skoff. Oh, by the way, what’s your name?” 

“Snyder,” the other said sullenly. “Rat Snyder, they gen¬ 
erally calls me.” 

“Ah! I see. Well, suppose you call me the Major. I’ve 
nothing to do with the army, you understand. That name’s 
just a little nom de veld, as it were.” 


244 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

A few minutes later the Major and his unwilling guest were 
partaking of a bountiful meal, efficiently served by Jim. Sev¬ 
eral times Snyder attempted to explain his action and bluster- 
ingly demanded the return of his revolver, threatening to have 
dire vengeance on the Major. But that man would not listen 
to him. 

“Not now, laddie. Let’s enjoy our buck roast sans a garn¬ 
ishing of lies and what not.” 

And so the Rat was obliged to eat his meal in silence- 
silence, at least, as far as speech went—and gave himself up to 
idle conjectures as to the true side of his strange host’s char¬ 
acter. Certainly this bored, monocled dude sitting opposite 
him, eating with the dainty fastidiousness of a woman, could 
not be the same man who had shown such lightning-like dex¬ 
terity with a rifle a little while back. And there seemed to be 
no thread connecting his drawling, inane chatter with the curt, 
“Hands up!” of half an hour ago. 

The man was a fool, Snyder finally concluded. That shot 
had been a lucky one—“Extra lucky fer me. ’E might ’ave 
killed me!” He didn’t know anything, and he’d be easy 
enough to bluff. There was still a chance to win Smith’s 
reward. 

At last the meal was finished. Jim cleared away the dishes, 
and was seated by the fire satisfying his own hunger. And Jim 
scorned plates, knives, and the other implements civilization 
has made essential to the proper eating of food. 

“Now we can have a pleasant little chat-chat,” the Major 
said softly, and, lighting a cigarette, puffed contentedly. “I 
think you have quite a little to explain, Trooper Snyder. I 
suppose you really are a trooper, though how you passed the 
riding and shooting tests quite beyond my feeble intellect.” 

“Never mind that,” the Rat snarled. “But lemme tell yer 
this, Major: You can’t go takin’ a man’s revolver away from 
’im and treatin’ ’im as you’ve treated me.” 

“But, ah, beg pardon, I have.” 

“Yus, you ’ave. And now you are goin’ to give the revolver 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


245 


back ter me an’ let me go. If yer do, per’aps I’ll forget ’ow 
you, an’ that nigger of yours, ’as man’andled me.” 

“I’d be only too charmed to, really. But I’m afraid it 
wouldn’t be safe for me—or you. Suppose, however, you 
tell me just what your little game is.” 

“Little game, mister?” the Rat said in astonished tones. 
“I ain’t got no little game.” 

“Then why did you fire at me?” 

The Rat’s eyes opened wide, expressing injured innocence. 

“I didn’t fire at you, mister. I didn’t know any one was 
a-campin’ ’ere. I thought as ’ow I sees a buck an’, as I was 
’ungry an’ didn’t ’ave no rations wiv me, it bein’ too late fer 
me to get back to the station for skoff, thinks I, I’ll shoot that 
buck an’ cook it. So I fires. The next I know is that your 
nigger jumps on me like a crazy man. You know the rest. 
But now you’ve given me skoff—an’ a bleedin’ good meal it 
was—I can ride on. So give me my popper an’ I’ll wish yer 
good night.” 

He held out his hand for the revolver, but the Major shook 
his head. 

“I can’t do it, really. Not because I don’t believe you, but 
because I do. How do I know that you wouldn’t mistake me 
for a buck again?” 

The Rat’s laugh was a trifle forced. “Don’t be a fool,” he 
said. “Mistakes like that don’t ’appen twice in one day.” 

“True. Just the same, and I’m sure you’ll understand my 
position, I daren’t take the risk. So I’m going to ask you to 
stay the night here.” 

Snyder began to bluster, but was silenced when the Major 
patted the revolver which now hung in its holster at the back 
of his chair. 

“All right,” he assented sullenly. “Too late to go on now, 
any’ow. But you’ll ’ave to send your nigger fer my ’orse’ an’, 
I warns yer, I shall report yer to the sergeant at the station.” 

The Major beamed. “That ’ud be most awfully jolly of 
you. It would save me the trouble of paying the old bird a 


246 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

call. But suppose we go into the tent now, and I’ll tuck you 
up nice and comfy. Early to bed, you know, and all that. 
Yes,” he took the revolver from its holster, “as you remark, 
I’m bringing my little persuader along with me. 

“You know,” the Major continued as they entered the tent, 
“I’m getting most attached to you.” 

“Like ’ell you are!” 

“Yes, really. On the whole you are a dour, silent fellow, 
but, when you do speak, your remarks are forceful and to the 
point. So I’m going to keep you with me for a few days— 
until I’ve taught you how to distinguish a man from a buck.” 

“I’ll see yer in ’ell first.” 

The Major gurgled with approval. “There, that just 
proves what I was saying. Forceful and to the point.” 

Then, in anxious tones, “You have handcuffs? Ah, yes, I 
see you have. You must be a really truly policeman. Well, 
hold out your hands, there’s a nice boy. I’m going to hand¬ 
cuff you to this pretty iron cot. You’ll sleep much sounder— 
knowing that there’s no danger of your going buck shooting 
in your sleep—and so will I.” 

And the Rat, because he could do nothing else save to utter 
lurid curses, permitted himself to be handcuffed and, throwing 
himself down on the bed, made himself as comfortable as 
possible. 

“Nighty-night,” said the Major, as he passed out of the 
tent. 

“Go to ’ell,” growled the Rat. 

“And now, what is the story of it, Jim?” the Major asked 
as he joined the Hottentot by the fire. 

“The tale is soon told, baas. I knew there had been a man 
riding this way, and yet that man did not come. Then, when 
we were talking about him, baas, I heard a horse neigh up 
there—you could not hear it. I remembered that the man’s 
face was evil, and that he had asked men of the baas’s where¬ 
abouts. The rest, is it not plain? He turned from the trail 
and crossed the river farther up, to the north, intending to 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


247 


creep up upon us unawares. So I went down to the river, first 
making sure that the baas was behind cover, and ran upstream 
until I came to the place where that man had crossed. I fol¬ 
lowed his spoor, came to the place where he had tied his horse, 
followed his spoor until presently I saw him before me, creep¬ 
ing on hands and knees. 

“Not once, baas, did he look behind him; he is a fool. And 
so, baas, after a time we came to a place where the elephant 
grass thinned and could see the camp. It was just after I had 
sounded the call of the Go-away bird, and even then he did not 
turn. 

“Then the man pulled out his gun just as the baas raised 
his head above the rock. That was folly, baas.” 

“My head was not in the helmet, Jim.” 

“Au-a! I should have known. And then the man fired, 
but before he could fire again I had leaped upon him. The 
shame is mine that he fired at all.” 

“No shame, Jim. You played your part well.” 

Jim grinned his acknowledgment of the compliment. “Here 
nothing happens, baas,” he said banteringly. “To-morrow we 
go to the dorp. Is it not so ?” 

“Nay. Bring the policeman’s horse here, then you can sleep. 
To-morrow we trek for—somewhere.” 

* * * 

The Major broke camp very early next morning. Breakfast, 
coffee and veld bricks, was eaten in the gray half-light of break¬ 
ing day, while the grass was still wet with dew and the chill 
in the air made the warmth from the campfire very desirable. 

Before the sun shot up above the horizon, Jim, who had 
already loaded the camp equipment onto the Cape cart, in- 
spanned the mules. The Major, tersely ordering the Rat to 
climb onto the driver’s seat, jumped up beside him. 

“All ready, Jim?” the Major called. 

“Yah, baas,” replied the Hottentot, who was riding the 
policeman’s horse, and leading Satan. 


248 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Argh, there,” shouted the Major in boyish glee and cracked 
the long whip. 

The well trained mules broke into a canter, swinging round 
in a half-circle in response to the Major’s guiding hands on 
the reins, and headed due east. 

“This is jolly, isn’t it?” chuckled the Major, turning to the 
Rat, his round face beaming with joy. “Nothing like trekking 
before sun-up, is there? Everything so fresh—nice smells, 
fresh air, cool, everything positively ripping.” 

The Rat grunted disdainfully. He had not slept very well. 
He had been tormented through the night by a weird night¬ 
mare ; he had been shooting rabbits when one, wearing a white 
helmet and a monocle, jumped up and bit him. Then the 
rabbit, its face like Whip Smith’s, had said with a lisp, 
“You don’t taste a bit nith!” There was more to it, but he 
had been conscious chiefly of the fact that the bite hurt, yet 
had never gained complete wakefulness to move slightly so that 
the pressure of the handcuffs on his wrist would be removed. 

“Rather grumpy, what?” the Major continued cheerily. 
“That’s too bad. And of course you can’t appreciate the 
beauties of that.” He pointed with his whip toward the 
eastern sky where the glory of the rising sun seemed to be set¬ 
ting the world on fire; tongues of flaming colour—rose madder, 
lavender, and gold predominating—shot upward, dispelling the 
gray clouds of dawn. 

The Rat sniffed. 

The Major looked at him in disgust. “But of course you 
can’t,” he continued. “You’re blind. You are a rat, a sewer 
rat. You can’t look up.” 

“Wot I’m interested in,” the Rat said thickly, “is just wot 
I’m a-goin’ ter do wiv you w’en I gets a chance.” 

“Ah! You mean you want to go buck shooting again, 
laddie?” 

“Naw! My ’ands are good enough ter do wot I wants to 
do wiv you. You just take these ’andcuffs orf, an’ I’ll show 
yer.” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


249 


The Major looked at him with interest. “ Ton my soul,” 
he murmured, “the Rat’s got guts. I’ve half a mind to ac¬ 
commodate him. But no; Jim ’ud never understand.” 

Aloud he said, “Tut, tut, don’t be so fierce! You’re having 
a nice ride, and I’m preventing you from committing murder. 
You’re not as appreciative as you might be.” 

“So yer yeller, eh?” the Rat sneered. “Yeller like all 
bleedin’ dudes.” 

The Major’s eyes narrowed and the Rat was conscious of 
a sudden qualm, of a feeling that he had misjudged his man. 
Then the Major laughed softly, fixed his monocle firmly in 
place and looked rather sorrowfully at the Rat. 

“Yes,” he said softly. “It was always the curse of my boy¬ 
hood days that my mother would not allow me to fight; weak 
heart, you know. But then fisticuffs is so degrading. Why, 
I’ve heard that men make each other’s noses bleed and get 
their eyes blackened. How beastly! By the way, have you 
ever ridden behind eight mules before?” 

“Naw. An’ I ain’t likely to again. They’re too slow fer 
me.” 

The Major whistled softly. “Why, dear Rat,” he ex¬ 
claimed, “you haven’t lived. We must rectify that.” 

He hooked the reins over the back of the seat and, taking the 
long-handled, long-lashed whip in his two hands, braced his 
feet against the front board. 

“Hold on, Rat,” he said. 

Then the long lash flew out over the mules with a rifle-like 
report and gently curled about the ears of the leaders. Again 
and again the whip cracked and each mule felt the smart of it. 

Their speed increased—faster and faster. 

The Major called to them, urging them to still better speed, 
spoke to each one by name. Soon they were going at break¬ 
neck speed, stretching themselves out in a maddened gallop, 
and the Cape cart bounced crazily from side to side. 

“Get the reins, Mister,” the Rat cried. “They’re running 
away. Look hout! You’ll ’ave us over.” 


250 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

The Major turned toward him and laughed. “You’d bet¬ 
ter get back of the seat,” he advised, “and hold on.” 

A heavy jolt as they passed over a large rock decided the 
Rat that the Major’s advice was good, and he quickly followed 
it. He reached out with his manacled hands with the wild 
idea of taking the reins and pulling up the mules, but the 
Major brought the thick butt of the whip down on his hands 
and the Rat subsided, whimpering frightened curses. 

“We’ve only just begun,” the Major shouted, that his voice 
might be heard above the rattle of the wheels. “Now watch.” 

And Snyder, the Rat, yellow with fear, watched a most 
astounding feat of driving as the Major, using only the whip 
and his voice, sent the mules through a maze of evolutions; 
now they were headed full tilt toward a large ant hill, and 
when it seemed that they would surely crash into it the mules 
swung sharply to the left. For a breath-taking moment the 
Cape cart tilted at a precarious angle, then righted itself and 
bounced jauntily on. The Major made the mules zigzag, 
missing large rocks to the right and to the left by the barest 
fraction of space; he headed them between two baobab trees 
where it seemed that there was not room enough for the Cape 
cart to pass—and the Major himself breathed with relief 
when the hazard was safely passed. Up hill and down hill, 
over a rock-strewn gully, he drove, and not once did the 
terrifying speed lessen. 

And all the time the Major, his monocle firmly in place, 
bareheaded—his helmet was bouncing on the floor of the Cape 
cart—played with the whip so that it seemed to be a live 
thing in his hands, obeying his slightest wish. Occasionally 
he would expound to the unappreciative policeman the tech¬ 
nique of certain of the “cracks.” 

“This one,” said the Major, “is beastly hard to do with this 
whip—one needs the kind the Australians use. They call it, 
I believe, the ‘Sydney double crack.’ ” 

He snapped the whip, ever so slightly, and the lash uncurled 
itself with two loud reports. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


251 

“And this, this would cut a pound of flesh from your hide, 
Rat.” 

As far as the Rat could see, not that he cared about seeing 
anything, the Major made the 
same motion, but the report was 
deafening. 

“There’s a horsefly on Skel- 
lum’s ear and Mafouta’s getting 
lazy, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t fink anything,” the Rat 
moaned. “But I wish you’d stop. 

You’ll kill hus.” 

“Oh, I haven’t started to play 
with ’em yet,” the Major said 
with a chuckle. “But watch this one; I’m rather proud of 
it.” 

The long lash flicked gently forward and killed a large fly 
on the off-leader’s ear. Then it coiled quickly back on itself 
and a little cloud of dust arose from the rump of the near¬ 
wheeler. 

And now Jim, who had been riding close behind the cart, 
yelling like a mad man, called out. “Oh-he, baas! The po¬ 
liceman’s horse can not keep up the pace any longer.” 

The Major looked behind and saw that the gray horse was 
white with lather. Then he grinned at Jim, and pointed to 
the Rat who was lying prone upon the floor of the swaying 
Cape cart, a victim of something suspiciously like seasickness. 

Turning again, the Major put away the whip, and taking up 
the reins, called soothingly to the mules. 

Instantly their pace slackened and a few minutes later they 
were trotting sedately along a well made dirt road, which 
presently forked. 

Straight ahead, and not a mile distant, was the homestead of 
the Peters, the road to the left led past the kraal of Thuso and 
on to the diamond town several days’ trek distant. 

The Rat, after his recovery, talked volubly, but the Major 





252 the major—diamond buyer 

did not hear him; his eyes were on the homestead, his thoughts 
were of Dorothy. He was endeavouring to convince himself 
that the girl meant nothing to him, yet knew that had it not 
been for Dorothy he would have chosen some other district in 
which to hunt. Although, during the past few weeks, he had 
carefully kept away from the homestead and had avoided all 
possible chance of meeting any of the Peters family, he knew 
that he had been held to the district as if by a magnet. 

Finally the Major decided on his course of action. He 
would go on up to the homestead, he would have a talk with 
Dorothy. He believed now, that a few words of explanation 
would clear up the misunderstanding and- 

He took up the reins, chirped to the mules and went on. 

“Blimme!” expostulated the Rat, “where are yer takin’ me 
now?” 

“Wait and see, laddie,” the Major said absently. “Wait 
and see!” 

They came shortly to a gate in the five-strand wire fence 
which stretched to the right and to the left as far as eye could 
see. As Jim dismounted to open the gate a white man rode 
up on the other side of the fence to meet them. 

“Hello, Major,” he called gleefully. “I might have known 
that you were the only man who could drive a team of mules 
like that. I’ve been watching you through field-glasses. Man, 
it was stupendous. How the hell can you do it?” 

The Major looked confused. 

“I was just actin’ like a bally fool, Burton. Showin’ off 
like a blinkin’ school brat. I ought to be horsewhipped; the 
poor devils are all tuckered out.” He looked intently at Bur¬ 
ton, noting that man’s bronzed skin, his clear eyes, the firm 
mouth, the easy way he sat his horse. “You’re looking well, 
Burton,” he added. 

Burton laughed. 

“I feel fit to fight for my life, Major. The life here is won¬ 
derful. I—I—it’s hard to express it, but I feel that I’ve 
found myself. And I have you to thank. You and Dorothy 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


253 

and Mr. Peters and Mrs. Peters. But you most of all I 
think.” 

“Oh, nonsense, Burton. Didn’t do a bally thing! All 
you needed was a chance, that’s all. But—er—where is Miss 
Dorothy?” 

Burton’s face clouded momentarily. 

“She’s gone with her father to Kimberley. She wanted to 
see you. Last week she had a letter from Colonel Hammond 
and also one from Mrs. Roger Griffin. They upset her a 
great deal, the letters did. You see, Major,” he looked at 
the Major appealingly, “we were to have been married this 
week but, when she received those letters, Dorothy felt that 
she had misjudged you, had not acted fairly. We talked it 
all over and so-” 

He broke off with a short laugh. 

The Major nodded. 

“You are going to stay with us, aren’t you, Major, until 
Dorothy and her father get back?” 

“No,” the Major cried gleefully. “I’m goin’ to trek for 
Kimberley just as fast as I can.” 

“Yes, of course! I understand. But at least come up 
to the house and have skoff. Mrs. Peters will want to see 
you and, besides, I’ve got a message for you from Colonel 
Hammond. It came two days after Dorothy left. Ham¬ 
mond thought you would be sure to be up here.” 

“All right! We’ll have skoff with you, Burton, and you 
can tell me Hammond’s message then.” 

“But who’s your friend?” Burton looked at the Rat with 
interest, as if seeing him for the first time. “You are not under 
arrest, are you? If you are, I think I can take care of that 
gentleman.” 

The Major laughed. “Thanks. But there’s no need of 
the rescue act. I’m not under arrest, but my friend, Mr. Rat 
Snyder, is, in a manner of speaking. He’s not a very jovial 
soul, is he? Well, I’ll tell yeu all about him later.” 

“Look ’ere,” the Rat burst out excitedly, “this joke’s gone 


254 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

far enough. You let me go now, an’ I won’t say anyfing about 
wot yer done.” 

“Frightfully sorry, an’ all that, but it can’t be done, Ratty, 
old top.” 

The Rat appealed to Burton. “I call hon you, sir, in the 
name of the lor’, to ’elp me. I calls on you to witness that this 
man is ’olding me against me will.” 

Burton looked at the Major and winked. “I’m afraid I 
can’t see anything out of the way, Trooper. You appear to 
be enjoying a very pleasant ride, that’s all.” Then, to the 
Major, “Let’s go up to the house, shall we?” 

The Major nodded agreement. “You go on with Jim,” he 
said. “I’ll follow with Mr. Snyder. I must explain a few 
things to him, you know; impress on him the fact that he must 
be on his best behaviour—that is, if he wants me to release him 
from the handcuffs. And I suppose he does.” 

Burton laughed understandingly. “Come on, Jim,” he 
called in the vernacular, and as they cantered off continued, 
“now tell me what is your baas’s play with the policeman.” 

Jim grinned. “It’s only a matter of shooting a buck.” 

“You mean your baas has been shooting buck without a 
license ?” 

“Nay! The policeman did the shooting; my baas was the 
,buck.” 

*• * * 

“Now, Burton. What was Hammond’s message?” 

It was after the noonday meal and they were seated on the 
spacious stoop of the Peters’ homestead. The Rat, sitting in a 
chair close to the Major, was apparently bored and disgusted. 
Mrs. Peters, gracious, and at ease, was swinging in a near-by 
hammock. 

“First of all,” said Burton, “Hammond said that he was 
speaking or the Big Man.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yes. He wishes you’d leave the Syndicate alone for a 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


255 

change and get after the men who endanger the future of the 
country.” 

“But with the very slightest exception I haven’t done any 
I. D. B. for the deuce an’ all of a time,” the Major expostu¬ 
lated. “I’m absolutely out of practice. Don’t think I’d 
know a bloomin’ diamond if I saw one. I’ll have to pull off 
a big deal just to show ’em I’m alive.” 

“Don’t Major. It’s not worth the candle. You know it 
isn’t. Besides, granted that the Big Man’s coining money 
because of a monopoly which you disapprove of, and has 
passed laws to protect that monopoly which you think unjust 
^-you’ve got to admit that he’s doing big things with his 
money.” 

The Major nodded. “He’s following a wonderful vision; 
he’s making a nation.” 

“And he’s not altogether to blame for the fact that his 
underlings abuse the power he’s given them?” 

“Perhaps not. But then, old chap, I’ve no quarrel with the 
Big Man. I admire him heaps, really!” 

“Doesn’t the end he’s aiming for justify the means, Major?” 
Mrs. Peters put in softly. 

“Yes, I think it does, Mrs. Peters. But why does he want 
me now, Burton?” 

Burton looked triumphantly at Mrs. Peters before answer¬ 
ing. “A group of men, headed by Whispering Smith, have 
formed a syndicate of their own and threaten to smash the Big 
Man unless he takes them in and gives their representative a 
voice equal to his own. And you know what that ’ud mean— 
ruin for hundreds, thousands.” 

The Major whistled softly. “But he can smash ’em, surely?” 

“He could if he had time—another week, say—but you know 
how all his money goes to developing the country up north.” 

“And Smith has set a time limit, you say?” 

“Yes. Thursday noon.” 

“Um! And to-day’s Monday. And how’s Smith going to 
do the Big Man?” 


256 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“By selling all the stones at a ridiculous figure. You can 
imagine what that’ll mean—flooding the market so that dia¬ 
monds ’ud be as cheap as glass for a time. It ’ud take years 
for things to get back to normal; perhaps they never would.’’ 

“Clever, oh, very clever,” murmured the Major. “It ’ud 
cause a panic on the Exchange; the Syndicate wouldn’t be 
able to give shares away. Why, it ’ud be worse than the South 
Sea Bubble. Clever of Smith, oh, very. But I don’t see what 
I can do!” 

“You might steal—borrow Smith’s stones. The end would 
justify the means, surely?” 

“Ah, yes. But I’m afraid that’s impossible.” 

“There are one or two things Tom hasn’t told you yet, 
Major. Colonel Hammond said that if the Big Man’s ruined 
it will mean an end to all our plans for the country up 
north.” 

The Major started. “That’s bad, but still I don’t see what 
I can do.” 

“And,” Burton took up the tale again, “Hammond says that 
if it were possible to defeat Smith this time, so that all the men 
who are associated with him in this deal would desert him— 
and most of them are really decent chaps—that would mean 
the end of Smith. Hammond said that, in that case, he would 
feel strong enough to smash Smith’s organizations.” 

“I see,” the Major said slowly, “but I don’t see where I 
come in.” Then he said, not at all apropos, “I suppose I’d 
better turn the Rat loose.” 

Burton nodded sorrowfully, feeling that he had failed mis¬ 
erably in enlisting the Major in the fight against Smith. 

The Rat looked up quickly, and as Mrs. Peters now met 
his gaze, she shivered slightly at the malice which gleamed in 
his eyes. Her forehead wrinkled in thought and she felt 
strangely panic-stricken. 

Rising suddenly she announced, in answer to the Major’s 
look of inquiry, that she was going for a little walk. 

“Well, Snyder,” the Major said after Mrs. Peters had 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


257 


passed out of sight, “you heard what I said, eh? Here’s your 
revolver, but really, old man, better practice a great deal be¬ 
fore you use it again on a buck. You can go, the sooner the 
better.” 

The Rat took the revolver, it was in its holster, and fastened 
it to his belt, then he leaned back in his chair, a triumphant leer 
on his face. 

“I don’t want ter go, fanks all the same.” 

Burton and the Major exchanged puzzled glances. “But 
you don’t understand, Ratty dear. We are tired of your 
bloomin’ presence. Shoo! Get out!” 

“I ain’t a-goin’. Has I’ve said, it’s nice and pleasant ’ere. 
Fink I’ll leave the perlice an’ stay wiv my friends Mr. and 
Mrs. Peters fer a while. I likes Mrs. Peters an’ I ’ears she 
has a daughter. Blimme! Perhaps I’ll marry the fluff.” 

“Shut up, you,” Burton said angrily. “Get out before I 
have you sjamboked.” 

Snyder’s red-rimmed eyes contracted to pin-points and, as 
the Major put a restraining hand on the impetuous youth’s 
shoulder, he said sneeringly, “You’d better go slow wiv that 
sort of talk, mister. It’ll only cost yer money. An’ I’m much 
obliged to you, dude, fer bringin’ me hup ’ere an’ puttin’ me 
in the way of makin’ heasy money.” 

He laughed boisterously. 

“Just what’s the joke?” the Major asked quietly. 

“W’y I was finking ’ow I was goin’ ter live ’ere in style wiv 
the old woman an’ her daughter waitin’ on me ’and and foot. 
Yer see,” he added confidentially, “I ’appens ter know some- 
fing that Mrs. Peters and ’er bloomin’ fam’ly ’ud give a lot 
ter keep quiet. I ’appens ter know she’s a bleedin’ 
crook.” 

With a hoarse cry of rage Burton leaped from his chair and 
rushed at Snyder. But the Major interposed himself between 
them. 

“Leave him to me, Burton. This is my job. I brought 
him here an—” 


258 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Now come on,” the Major said and, as the Rat—anxious 
to wipe out the indignities he had suffered at the hands of this 
monocled dude—greedily accepted the invitation, gave that 
man a lesson in feinting and footwork and hitting which far 
surpassed anything he had seen in his checkered ring career. 

“Ugh!” he exclaimed presently as the Major’s left again got 
home on his flabby stomach muscles. “Let’s tork. I ain't 
got no cause ter fight wiv you. Let’s tork.” 

“All right,” the Major said cheerfully. “I knew you were 
yellow, Ratty. Well, talk it is. And you, Burton, you leave 
this animal to me.” 

Burton hesitated a moment and then vanished into the 
house. 

When he came out again, fifteen minutes later, it was in 
time to see the Rat vanishing in a cloud of dust down the 
idriveway. 

“Well,” he asked as he seated himself disconsolately, “what 
did the rotter have to say?” 

The Major lighted a cigarette before answering, “He knew 
all about Mrs. Peters’s fall from grace in England a long time 
ago. You knew about it, of course?” 

Burton nodded. “She told me when I confessed about my 
own affair.” 

“I didn’t know anything about that,” the Major said, “until 

to-day. But of course I wondered- However; the Rat’s 

not going to remember anything about it.” 

“You mean you’ve paid him to keep quiet?” 

The Major nodded. 

“How much?” 

“Five thousand pounds. I gave him two hundred—all I 
had with me. I’m going to give him the rest on Thursday; 
going to meet him in Kimberley. He’s on his way there now 
to spend the two hundred. ‘Ter ’ell with the perlice,’ he said. 
‘I’m a bloody civilian from now hon.’ He’s an unpleasant 
animal.” 

Burton frowned. “Do you think he’ll keep his mouth shut?” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


259 

“No, not if I know the breed. He’ll bleed the Peters for 
all they’ve got.” 

“Then, by God, Major, why did you give—?” 

“Gently, gently, old hot head. I want to deal with this 
worm in my own way. You see he tried to murder me. Of 
course Whip Smith put him up to that, and I must have a 
little chat with Smith about it. Can’t have that sort of thing 
goin’ on, you know. So, it would seem, the Rat was one of 
Smith’s creatures and he’s been looking through Smith’s in¬ 
famous books. You know all about them, eh? 

Burton nodded. 

“Very well. That’s where he saw Mrs. Peters’s photo and 
read about her little adventure. He boasted about it; he 
seems to have a good memory for faces.” 

“But if he’s one of Smith’s men, won’t he tell Smith all 
about it?” 

“Was one of Smith’s men, old chap, not is. All the differ¬ 
ence in the world. Having fallen down on the first job Smith 
gave him he’s afraid of the man and has decided to play his 
own game. I helped him decide. You see, he told me that 
he had recognized several other women whose photos appear 
in that book of Smith’s—and blackmailing is a very well pay¬ 
ing profession. ‘And why share the profits with Smith?’ I 
asked him. ‘I’m damned hif I’m goin’ to, mister,’ he answered, 
‘but I’m goin’ ter make them women sit hup an’ be nice ter 
me.’ 

“So, Burton, for the sake of the other women—as well as 
Mrs. Peters—I must positively settle with the bounder in my 
own way. Don’t vou see?” 

“But how?” 

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll probably think of a way as 
I ride into Kimberley. I shall leave Jim here—do you mind? 
—-and ride fast. Jim can come on to-morrow at his own pace. 
Let’s have an early dinner. I want to start as soon as the 
moon’s up.” 

“All right, Major. You’re a damned good pal for a chap to 


260 the major—diamond buyer 

have. You know what Mrs. Peters has done for me, and I’d 
give my eyes to save her the least bit of trouble. And—when 
you get to Kimberley, and see Dorothy why, why Major, I 
wish you luck.” 

“Thanks, old man,” the Major said gravely. “I’ll need it. 
“Now you trot along and see that Jim and the mules and 
Satan are all right, will you? Specially Satan. I’m going to 
ride the old fellow far and fast.” 

As Burton left, Mrs. Peters returned and sat down wearily 
in a chair close to the Major. He reached over and taking her 
slim, frail hands in his patted them gently. 

“It’s all right, dear Mrs. Peters,” he said softly. And he 
talked gaily of the plans he had made, of the things he was 
going to do, until the fear left her eyes, until she forgot Rat 
and the menace of his presence, until she laughed freely and 
without restraint. 

Then the Major sobered suddenly. “Mrs. Peters,” he said 
gravely, “I want you to answer a very important question. If 
I asked Dorothy to marry me, what would she say?” 

She looked up into his face. 

“She’d say ‘Yes,’ Major.” 

He beamed. “You mean that—really?” 

She inclined her head. 

“Ah, but why would she say ‘yes’ ? Because she—er—loves 
me? Word of honour, now?” 

“No,” very slowly, “I think it would be because it would 
be her only way of expressing the gratitude she, we all, feel 
toward you.” 

“I see. Then she doesn’t love me?” 

“Not as you would have her do, Major. If she hadn’t met 
Tom-” 

“But she did. And he’s a nice boy?” 

“A dear boy, Major. But she’ll forget him. You’ll marry 
her and take her away from this country, back to England. 
She’ll forget Tom. And you’ll make her very happy, Major, 
I’m sure of that.” 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


261 


“I see!” 

They did not speak again until the house-boy announced 
that dinner was served. 


* * * 

The Rat returned to Kimberley on foot, at least the last 
mile or so of his journey, and at night. His horse he left 
free to roam on the veld. At a small kaffir store just outside 
the township, proper, he purchased a suit of civilians which he 
immediately donned. And then, with a three-days’ beard on 
his face—he had not shaved since the day before he was cap¬ 
tured by the Major—he slunk covertly into the town, taking 
care to give the mounted police camp a wide berth, well con¬ 
vinced that no one would recognize him because no one was 
looking for him. 

He put up at a hotel far removed from Whispering Smith’s 
place, and proceeded to spend his money with the regal air of 
one who has always had plenty, or has come by what he has 
dishonestly. 

It was quite evident that the Rat’s wealth was newly ac¬ 
quired, and in Kimberley furtive appearing men of no apparent 
occupation, yet well supplied with money, attract the attention 
of the eagle-eyed men who guard the output of the diamond 
mines. 

But the Rat was ignorant of many things, so that when one 
of his chance-met acquaintances flattered him by continually 
seeking his society, he took it as a tribute to his own good qual¬ 
ities and two-fisted generosity. 

His self-esteem would have been badly shaken had he known 
that his new-found friend was on the pay-roll of the 
Syndicate. 

Then, too, the Rat grossly underestimated the long arm of 
Whispering Smith. That he had not been sent for seemed 
proof enough that Smith did not know of his presence, and 
would not know. 

But, within twenty-four hours of the Rat’s return to Kim- 


262 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

berley, Smith was apprised of his presence from two sources. 
One, a letter, which read: 


Dear Whip: 

I must say that your henchmen are pretty poor specimens. As 
pick-pockets, pea-and-thimble riggers and so forth and what not, they 
are probably top-hole. But really, when you send out a man to mur¬ 
der me—what a beastly word “murder” is, isn’t it?—I wish you’d 
choose someone a little more proficient than Rat Snyder. I’m saying 
this for your own guidance; for myself, I’m perfectly satisfied, quite. 
But, still, I’ll have to chastise you some way. Of course you want to 
know all about it, yes? First of all then, Ratty couldn’t hit a bloom¬ 
in’ haystack, as the dear old rustics say; quaint old chappies, aren’t 
they, in their smocks and what not?—and when he fired at me, an’ 
missed, the silly blighter got the wind up and confessed all. It was 
most touching! How could you have the heart to lead such an in¬ 
nocent astray. He gave me a lot of interesting information about 
you and your jolly old books; gave me so much information, in fact, 
that I felt in honour bound to pay him. You see, I think I can make 
use of it myself someday. 

The last I saw of Ratty he was headed for Kimberley where, he 
informed me, he was going on “a bleedin’ razzo, an’ ter ’ell with 
Smitty an’ the perlice!” He’s quite coarse, isn’t he? 

Toodle-oo, old Spider. Hope to see you again some day. 

Murderously yours, 

The Major. 

Hardly had Smith, his face white with rage, finished the 
letter when a trim little girl, who lisped when following her 
profession, came into the office. 

“Boss,” she said breathlessly, without any preamble, “Rat 
Snyder’s in town. He seems to be in funds. He’s staying at 
the Colonial.” 

Smith glared at her, speechless with anger. At last he said 
in a husky, whispering voice, “Tell Holy Joe to get him.” 

“You mean-?” 

She drew her forefinger daintily across her slim white throat. 

“No,” he snapped irritably. “Diamonds—Breakwater. 
Get out.” 

And Martha got out. 

So it happened that that same night the Rat, as he turned 
away from the cigar counter at the hotel, collided with a fat- 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


263 


jmvled man dressed in clerical garb. This man, on recovering 
from the encounter, felt hurriedly in his breast pocket and then 
raised a cry of “Police!” 

The Rat’s “friend” stepped up quickly, showed his badge 
and asked what the trouble was. 

“Why,” replied the clergyman in a deep, booming voice, 
“this poor misguided fellow has taken my wallet. I felt his 
hand go into my pocket as he bumped into me.” 

He looked sorrowfully through the strong-lensed glasses he 
wore at the infuriated Rat. 

“It’s a lie,” yelped the Rat. 

“That’ll be all from you,” said the detective, and the Rat 
quickly subsided. “Will you come to the station and make 
out a complaint, sir ?” 

“Well,” the clergyman hesitated. “I don’t want to be hard 
on the man. It may be his first offence and I should be deeply 
distressed if I thought I had helped to send him along the 
broad path which leads to destruction. All I ask is the return 
of my wallet.” 

“Come on,” said the detective, tightening his grip on the 
Rat, “hand it over.” 

“I ain’t got it, I tell yer. I ain’t got it.” 

The Rat squirmed in his endeavour to free himself. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come to the station, sir. I can’t 
search him here,” the detective said apologetically. 

“Very well. But dear me, this is very distressing.” 

Five minutes later the three were in the office of the captain 
in charge of the town police. 

“Will you describe the wallet, sir?” 

“Assuredly. It was of plain, brown leather and contained 
nothing of value to any one save myself; a few letters, that is 
all.” 

“Search him,” ordered the captain. 

Quickly the detective ran his hand over the Rat, who made 
no protest. Things were happening far too rapidly for his 
brain to grasp. 


264 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“Is this yours, sir?” the detective held up a wallet which he 
had taken from the Rat’s coat pocket. 

“Yes,” the deep voice boomed and the clergyman reached 
eagerly for it. “As you see, Cap¬ 
tain, it contains nothing but pri¬ 
vate letters. Allow me to thank 
you for the courtesy you have 
shown me. A very good day to 
you both. And, as for you, young 
man,” he paused opposite the Rat, 
“I hope that this will be a lesson 
to you, and that you will see the 
error of your ways before it is too 
late. Remember the way of the 
transgressor is hard—very hard.” 

As the clergyman passed out of the room, the Rat attempted 
to follow him, but was held fast. 

“Lemme go,” he whined. “I ain’t done nothing. There’s 
no charge against me.” 

“No. Not yet,” replied the detective, “but I’m curious to 
know where you’ve been getting all your money from.” 

He searched the Rat again, a more thorough examination 
this time, and extracted from the Rat’s vest pocket a small dia¬ 
mond in the rough. 

“Ah!” murmured the detective happily. “That’s your little 
game, is it? I. D. B.” 

“I don’t know wot yer mean,” the Rat cried. 

“You’ll have a long time to think it over, won’t he, Cap¬ 
tain? Five years, at least, I should say.” 

The captain nodded, and consulted his calendar. 

“Get him up for trial to-morrow, Thursday, morning. It’s 
a clear case, but you can call me as witness, if you like. We 
ought to be able to get him off on the one o’clock southbound. 
He’ll enjoy the view at the Breakwater, don’t you think?” 

The detective chuckled as he led the bewildered Rat to a 
cell. 



A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 265 

And there were many things to bewilder the Rat. As he 
Was led past one cell a pretty girl—she answered to the name 
of Martha and, when following her profession, spoke with a 
lisp— screamed curses at him; and in the cell which finally re¬ 
ceived him were many men—among them was the clergyman 
who had been responsible for his predicament. And Holy 
Joe’s curses were even more devastating than Martha’s. 

* *■ *• 

It was nearly Thursday noon and Whispering Smith was 
in an evil temper. This was partly caused by the strange dis¬ 
appearance of many of his lieutenants—notably Holy Joe and 
Martha. Smith, for the first time in his career, was uneasy; 
felt that his position was precarious. Yet he was on the verge 
of bringing off the biggest coup he had ever attempted. If he 
succeeded—and he could not see how he could fail—wealth 
and high honour were his. No! he could not fail! 

Again and again Smith consulted his watch. It was after 
eleven. 

In a little while he would know whether he and his partners 
were to be admitted into the Big Syndicate group or whether 
he was to flood the market and ruin the diamond industry— 
and, incidentally, ruin the prospects of a young country. 

Smith, with his love for the theatrical, had set the stage 
very cleverly for his expected interview with the Big Man. In 
his colossal egotism he had insisted on his office being the 
rendezvous; the Big Man should come to him. On an extra 
table which had been brought in for the occasion, were black, 
velvet-lined trays, and on the trays—arranged by shape, weight, 
colour, quality—were diamonds; hundreds, thousands of them 
—the property of the men he represented. Two expert ap¬ 
praisers, the only men he could get to work for him, had taken 
more than three weeks to sort those diamonds, arranging them 
for marketing. 

It was a wonderful plan, this of Smith’s; it was without a 
flaw. Given time, he fully realized, the Big Man could smash 


266 


THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

him. But that was where Smith’s plan was strong. He would 
show no quarter. He was prepared; the Big Man was not. 

Smith should have been happy. That he was not was due 
to the fact that the Big Man had so far completely ignored 
him. That hurt his pride. 

At half-past eleven his partners crowded into the little office 
^—fourteen of them. They looked inquiringly at Smith, then, 
huddling together, conversed in furtive whispers. They 
smoked furiously until the room was blue with smoke and it 
was almost impossible to distinguish the face of a man across 
the room. They continually consulted their watches, and the 
snapping of “hunter” lids sounded like the distant firing of 
rifles. 

At ten minutes of twelve one of the men Smith had placed 
on guard outside the office opened the door to admit a tall man, 
his height accentuated by the high silk hat he wore. He was 
dressed in a braided morning coat, gray trousers, spats, and car¬ 
ried a cane. His black beard, pointed, was neatly trimmed; 
his moustache well waxed. He loomed up as a giant in the fog¬ 
like swirl of smoke. He looked very English, but Smith, and 
the others who knew their South Africa well, recognized in 
him a Boer who, having tasted English life, had decided to go 
his tutors one better. 

“Which is Mr.—ah—Smith?” he asked. “I have a letter 
for him.” 

His speech was crisp. That and the peculiar way in which 
he clipped his vowels completely confirmed the accuracy of the 
impression the men had formed of him. 

“I’m Smith,” Whip growled. “You from the Big Man?” 

“Yess.” 

He handed a letter to Smith, who opened it and read aloud: 

I hereby authorize the bearer, Mr. Piet du Toit, to act for me this 
day. 


He passed the letter around. 
“Is it genuine?” he asked. 


(Signed) 



A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 267 

“Yes, Whip,” said one. “I’d recognize his scrawl any¬ 
where.” 

Several of the others also identified the well known signature. 

“Well, Piet,” Smith said familiarly, “I suppose you’re one 
of his ‘young men’ ?” 

“I have the honour to be his personal representative,” the 
other said curtly. “But shall we talk business, not?” 

“All right. But there’s not much to say. I suppose the 
Big Man will agree to our terms?” 

The other shook his head. “He wants you to give him two 
more days.” 

Smith’s laugh was echoed by some of the others. 

“Not—likely,” he said. “Time to smash us, eh? No. 
You’ve got,” he consulted his watch, “five minutes to accept 
our terms, or-” He shrugged his shoulders. 

There was silence for a little while, broken by the dry 
nervous coughs of Smith’s partners. 

Du Toit suddenly took up the coal bucket which stood be¬ 
side the pot-bellied stove, and said slowly, “I’ve never seen a 
bucketful of diamonds, have you, Mr. Smith? And I’d like 
to. Then here’s my proposition. If they,” he nodded toward 
the trays of diamonds, “fill this, we’ll buy them at your price. 
If not”—his shrug was equally as eloquent as Smith’s had been. 

Then with lightning speed he tilted tray after tray into the 
bucket while the others watched him as if hypnotized, not fully 
comprehending what he was doing. 

“Look!” he cried, shaking the bucket exultantly. “They 
barely half fill it.” 

He darted to the door, opened it. Then he turned again, 
and a monocle gleamed in his right eye. 

“Ta-ta, Smithy, old top. As a murder-organizer you’re 
poor, but as a diamond merchant you’re absolutely rotten.” 

The door slammed behind him. 

With a bellow of rage Smith leaped to the door, opened it 
and yelled, “Stop that dude! He’s the Major. Stop him!” 

Then he saw that the barroom was filled with troopers of 


268 THE MAJOR-DIAMOND BUYER 

the mounted police who were dancing hilariously, and who 
managed to get in the way of Smith’s men and thus prevent 
them from carrying out his orders. 

Of the frock-coated, silk-hatted one there was no sign. 

Smith savagely reentered his office and sat down in his chair 
muttering, “The blasted dude again. I’ll-” 

Then he was conscious that his partners were regarding him 
with hostility. Apparently they had come to some decision, 
or had had one thrust upon them, during his brief absence. 

“Well?” he barked. “What’s the trouble with you?” He 
glanced at his watch. “Time’s up! We put these on the 
market and smash them.” 

Some of the men laughed and one said in relieved tones, 
“We were fools to think of coming in with you, Smith. The 
game’s up and I, for one, am glad of it.” 

Smith stared at him. “What do you mean, game’s up ? We 
can carry out our plan, can’t we? Flood the market and sell 
Syndicate stock on the Exchange? We’ll clean up big.” 

“And what dealer’ll buy stones in that condition?” The 
other man pointed to the bucket. “They’ll all have to be 
sorted again before we can market them. And you know how 
long that’ll take. No,” he picked up the bucket, “we’re going 
to the Big Man and offer them to him at his price. He’ll treat 
us square.” 

He moved to the door and passed out into the barrom, fol¬ 
lowed by the others. 

Smith heard him ask some of the troopers to act as escort, 
then the door closed and he was left to his thoughts. 

The others had not lost anything; they still had their dia¬ 
monds. But he, using his brains, his capital, his enormous 
criminal organization, he had schemed to win great wealth and 
the power that wealth brings. And he had lost everything! 

“I need a rest,” he told himself brokenly. “I’ll go north 
for a while to see what’s doing in the Big Man’s country. 
And when I come back,” his eyes flashed with their old-time 
fire, “I’ll go after the Major myself. 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


2651 

“The Major!” He repeated the name over and over again. 
It seemed to lash him to an insensate fury. A stream of in¬ 
vectives came from his thin lips. ‘Til get him myself.” 

He slumped down in his chair, his eyes fixed staringly at 
the empty trays; his long, slender fingers opened and closed 
spasmodically. Then suddenly every muscle in his body tensed. 
Some one had opened the door, had entered, and closed the 
door again. 

He turned round with a snarl and then gaped in fearful 
astonishment. He wanted to scream; he wanted to claw and 
scratch the calm, placid face of the intruder on his misery; he 
had an insane desire to throw filth on the man’s immaculate 
clothes, to tear the monocle from his eye and jump on it, smash 
it into a thousand pieces. 

He wanted to curse, to threaten, to execute the threats; he 
leaned forward in his chair, his hand clawing the air before 
him; he seemed like an evil beast of prey ready to spring, a 
cowardly beast, cornered and made to fight. 

Then his eyes saw the revolver in the other’s hand and he 
slumped back in his chair again, twitching nervously. 

“What do you want, Major?” he asked in a hoarse, husky 
whisper. 

The Major laughed. 

“It took you quite a time to get that out, didn’t it, old 
chappy. But then, when you saw me a few minutes ago I 
wore a beard, and all that. You’d hardly expect a fellow to 
shave so quickly. No, of course not. What do I want? Oh, 
quite a lot, quite a lot, I assure you. Just now I’m gloating. 
But I don’t think I’ll gloat for long! You’re such a nasty cur 
that there’s no pleasure in it. And you’re coming to such a 
beastly end that perhaps it is not quite sportin’ to gloat.” 

Smith sank back still farther in his chair; seemed to shrivel 
up; shifted to the right and to the left in his fruitless endeavour 
to get away from the revolver’s aim. 

The Major considered him coolly, almost impersonally, then 
returned his revolver to its holster. 


270 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“I’ve got a lot to do, Smithy,” he said, “and I can’t stay to 
have the little chat with you that I would like. So I’ll just 
tell you that your career is at an end—oh, abso-bloomin’- 
lutely.” 

“Don’t talk like a damned fool, Major.” 

Now the revolver was out of sight Smith’s nerve returned 
to him. 

“Oh, but I’m tellin’ you the truth, the whole truth, and all 
that, you know. All your friends and so forth—at least nearly 
all of them—are under lock and key. In a little while they’ll 
be on their way to trunk and there they will finish out their 
careers; some making little stones out of big ones, some picking 
oakum, and all will scrub the floors of their bedrooms. Per¬ 
haps they’ll be made to listen to Holy Joe preach! Can you 
imagine anything more terrible ?” 

Smith turned round to his desk. “If that’s all you have to 
say, Major-” 

“But that’s not all! Don’t be so bally impetuous. Look!” 

He opened the door and Smith, looking in spite of his de¬ 
sire not to look, saw that the barroom was filled with men. 
Many of them were his creatures, the others uniformed police¬ 
men. Looking still closer Smith saw that the men in civilians 
were handcuffed to each other. 

Then the Major closed the door. 

“Quite a haul, eh?” the Major said pleasantly. “And I 
planned it. I’m devilishly clever, don’t you think?” 

Smith did not answer. He had much to think about. 

“They’re coming in to handcuff you in a moment,” the 
Major continued. “You’d be surprised—you will be sur¬ 
prised—at the number of crimes you are going to be tried for. 
So many of your—er—friends have, to put it crudely, gabbed.” 

“They can’t touch me,” Smith said uneasily. “They’ve got 
no proof. I’ll be out free again in a few days and then I’ll 
make the squealers pay!” His eyes wandered to the drawers 
where he kept his files. 

The Major smiled. “I wouldn’t count on those famous 


A BUCKETFUL OF DIAMONDS 


27 r 


books of yours, Smithy. Colonel Hammond, he’s a great 
friend of mine, realized that we couldn’t do anything with you 
while those books were in existence. So I assured him that, 
really, you weren’t a bad fellow at heart and that, of course, 
as soon as the matter was put up to you in the right way you 
would destroy them. And you will, won’t you?” 

“I’ll see you in hell first.” Smith laughed harshly. “You 
must think I’m a fool, Major. Why, nearly every big bug in 
town is mentioned in that book in some way or other; even the 
magistrate who’ll-” 

“Yes!” The Major interrupted. “I do think you’re a— 
excuse me—fool, Smithy. Of course we’ve been fools, too. 
We should have collared those books long ago. Ah, well! 
It’s never too late to mend, what? So we’ll burn them now. 
Can’t take any chances at all.” 

He took the lid off the pot-bellied stove. 

“Now,” he ordered, and the drawl left his voice; he spoke 
as one accustomed to and getting instant obedience. “Put your 
filthy books in here. Quick! It’s chilly. I want to have a 
fire.” 

Smith did not move until the Major took him by the coat 
collar and lifted him to his feet. 

“Quick!” repeated the Major and as he spoke his revolver 
leaped from the holster. 

And then Smith moved. 

Under the Major’s keen eye he took his books from the 
drawers and tearing out the pages stuffed them in the stove. 

The Major applied a match and the papers blazed furiously. 
Drawer after drawer was emptied and their contents, after be¬ 
ing subjected to a swift scrutiny by the Major, added to the 
pyre. The room was soon stripped bare and Smith’s pockets 
were turned inside out. 

The stove glowed a dull red; heat waves shimmered above 
it. The room was filled with the scent of scorched wood, the 
heat was suffocating. Sweat rolled down the faces of both 
men but they stuck grimly to their task; one inspired by the 


272 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

righteous joy of destroying an evil thing, of a task well ac¬ 
complished, the other driven by the fear of the death which 
could belch forth from the black, menacing revolver at the 
slightest pressure of the Major’s trigger-finger. 

At length the fire died down, became only a red, glowing 
mass, became only a gray, feathery heap of ashes. 

“I’d have given you half, Major,” Smith croaked. “We 
could have run this country to please ourselves if you’d come 
in with me.” 

The Major shrugged his shoulders. 

. “Your ‘if’ was too big a handicap. And now it’s finished.” 
He looked at his watch. “They’ll come in to arrest you in 
five minutes and you’re harmless; as harmless as a fangless 
snake.” 

He turned to leave, hesitated a moment at the door then came 
back and placed his revolver on the desk, close to Smith’s hand. 

“I shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, “but then, I was always 
too soft hearted.” 

He turned to leave again. As he did so Smith’s hand closed 
convulsively on the revolver, tried to pick it up and aim at the 
Major. But his nerveless fingers were not equal to the task 
and before he could steady himself the door closed behind the 
monocled man with a bang. 

Smith sat for a few moments; then, slowly, he turned the 
revolver on himself, guiding it with trembling hands to his 
temple. He held it there, pressed it hard against his skin, and 
closed his eyes. For a full minute he sat thus and then, with 
a dry sob, he opened his hands and the revolver fell with a 
clatter to the floor. 

When the police entered two minutes later he rose, as one 
in a stupour, and held out his hands to be handcuffed. 

The sergeant who made the arrest was very clumsy, he was 
looking at the angry red circle on Smith’s right temple, and 
pinched Smith’s flesh in the hinge of the handcuffs. 

But Smith made no outcry; he was defeated, broken, and 
had eyes for nothing but the revolver on the floor. 


CHAPTER X 


THE RING 

O N LEAVING Smith’s place the Major hastened toward 
the police headquarters where he was to meet Colonel 
Hammond. On the way he stopped at a small 
jewellery shop and purchased an expensive diamond ring, se¬ 
lecting it with the speed and assurance of an expert. 

At the police headquarters he was at once ushered into an 
inner office and was greeted warmly by Colonel Hammond 
who introduced him to two men—both well known to the 
Major. One was a short, stockily built man with soft brown 
eyes and flowing moustache; the other one, dressed in a 
wrinkled gray suit, had the eyes of a dreamer, and the nose and 
mouth of a doer, of a man who having decided on a course of 
action, would ride rough-shod over all obstacles, considering 
the end to justify the means. 

“You have done well,” he said in a high, piping voice as the 
Major, at Colonel Hammond’s suggestion, told of what he had 
accomplished. “I want you, Major. I’ve got work for you 
up north. When will you start?” 

“I’m not sure that I want to come in with you.” 

The other turned to his companion, whispered for a few 
moments, and then barked his question, “Why?” 

“Well,” the Major said slowly, “there’s this I. D. B. act. 
I don’t like it—it’s unfair, deucedly unfair.” 

The other turned crimson. “Damn it all!” he shouted. 
“Is the fool trying to bargain with me?” 

“Why is it unfair, Major?” the other man asked quietly. 
The Major looked at Colonel Hammond and answered 
that man’s frown of remonstrance with a wink. 


273 


274 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

“I’ll tell you,” he drawled. “It’s true, isn’t it—you’ll cor¬ 
rect me if I’m wrong, I know, but really I ought to know— 
that a man found with an unregistered diamond in his posses¬ 
sion is a criminal under the I. D. B. act?” 

“He is,” they assented, “unless he can prove that he came 
by it innocently.” 

“Ah, that’s it! There’s the rub. You know, if a chappy 
finds a stone in his pocket he has the deuce and all of a time 
to prove that some one put it there.” 

“But,” expostulated the man in gray, “we have to safe¬ 
guard our interests some way. As it is too many stones are 
stolen. Why the traffic in illicit diamonds is so enormous—” 

The Major waved his hands airily. “You will excuse me,” 
he said, “but I really ought to know all about that, too. Yes. 
I’ll grant you that. You should have some measure of pro¬ 
tection. But not this one. It’s so damnably unfair. I 
say, Hammond, old chap! Show the Big Man that paper¬ 
weight of yours.” 

Wonderingly Hammond took the weight from his desk and 
handed it to the man in gray. He turned it over and examined 
with idle curiosity the photos of the Major which were pasted 
on the top and the bottom of it. 

“We’re wasting time,” he said curtly, handing the paper¬ 
weight back to Hammond. “For the last time, Major, I offer 
you-” 

“Wait!” the Major cried excitedly. “I want to prove my 
point. That paperweight is a diamond and—” 

“What!” 

They all examined it, incredulously at first. 

“My God! It is, sir!” exclaimed Hammond. “And it’s 
as big as the one Roger Griffin discovered.” 

“It’s the other half of that one,” the Major said calmly. 
“But never mind that—now. I want to prove my point. 
Don’t you see? Hammond, under the I. D. B. act is guilty. 
Ask him to prove, if he can, that that diamond came innocently 
into his possession?” 


THE RING 


275 


Hammond looked helplessly at the other two, then laughed. 

“It’s true, sir,” he said. “It came to me through the mail. 
I believe the Major sent it to me, but I can’t prove that. Or, 
if I could prove that, I couldn’t prove that I was not his con¬ 
federate.” 

The man in gray pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. 
Twice he started to speak but emitted only a high, falsetto 
squeak. 

“I see,” he said finally. “You’d better put yourself under 
arrest, Hammond.” Then he laughed heartily and turning to 
the Major, continued, “And if I do my best to repeal this 
law, what then?” 

The Major hesitated. 

“There’s a young lady in the next room, Major,” Hammond 
interposed. “Perhaps she can help you decide.” 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” the Major said as he ran out 
of the room. 

Going into an adjoining room he saw Dorothy standing by 
the window, looking out into the street. 

He went up softly behind her and, looking over her 
shoulder, saw Jim the Hottentot out in the street. The 
Hottentot was mounted, and was leading the black stallion, 
Satan. 

“Oh-he, baas!” Jim called gaily. 

And then Dorothy, conscious for the first time of the Major’s 
presence, turned around with a start. 

“How you startled me, Major,” she said in a soft, tremulous 
voice. “But how glad I am to see you. There are so many 
things I want to explain—and I want to be forgiven.” 

“Forgiven, dear lady?” he said gaily. “And for what?” 

“For misjudging you so foolishly. I mean,” she faltered 
slightly, “about the girl I saw you riding with.” 

“Oh, that!” The Major said stupidly. 

“And I wanted to say, too,” she went on breathlessly, “that 

—the things we planned to do together—the- Oh, why 

don’t you help me?” 


276 THE MAJOR—DIAMOND BUYER 

He looked at her gravely; saw that her lips were laughing, 
but that her eyes were clouded, full of sorrow. 

The Major laughed and there was a little catch in his laugh. 

“Oh, all that? But then, don’t you know, I was always 
such an ass about things of that sort; always indulging in day 
dreams, and all that sort of rot, don’t you know.” She looked 
at him wonderingly. “But look here,” he continued and fum¬ 
bling in his pocket produced the ring that he had bought. “I’ve 
bought this for a young lady I hope to marry. Do you think 
she’ll like it?” 

“I think that it-” She began, but he seemed not to 

hear her. 

“She’s the dearest little girl,” he murmured. “Blue, blue 
eyes and golden hair, like corn in the sunshine and all that 
sort of thing, you know. I hope you will let me bring her to 
see you some day and—” 

It was a clumsy lie, clumsily told. But Dorothy believed 
it because she wanted to believe it. 

“I’m so glad for you, Major,” she cried, her eyes beaming 
with happiness. “Oh, I’m so glad.” And she flung her arms 
about him and kissed him on both cheeks. 

“Bah Jove!” he exclaimed. “Bah Jove!” and backed hastily 
out of the room. 

In the corridor he halted a moment, then, with a shrug of 
his shoulders opened the door of Hammond’s office again. 

The man in gray looked up inquiringly. “Well ?” he asked. 

“I’m with you, sir,” the Major said tersely. “I’d like to 
go up there with a—er—roving commission, as it were.” 

“It’s yours, my boy. We’ll do big things. And you- ” 

“Can’t stop now for a chin. Whom do I report to ?” 

“To me,” said the man with the dark moustache. “I go up 
next week.” 

“Good! I’m off now. Toodle-oo!” 

“Wait!” Hammond shouted. “What am I do to with this 
diamond ?” 

“Anything you damned please,” the Major replied. “Give 


THE RING 


277 

it to a society for providing high silk hats for native gentlemen 
if you like.” 

He ran out of the room and into the street. 

“Where to, baas?” Jim shouted, his ugly face beaming with 
affection for his baas, his baas who could do no wrong. 

“Up north—to play the game.” 

The Major mounted and laughed boyishly as Satan bucked 
his delight at having his master in the saddle again. 

They rode slowly down the street. 

“Is it the diamond game, baas?” Jim asked. 

“No, Jim. We go to win the good will of black men that 
white men may dwell at peace with them.” 

“It is a good game, baas. All games are good where only 
men are players. But when a woman plays a part—Au-al 
Then, baas, watch for evil. Four wives I had—perhaps I still 
have them, who knows?—and I knew no peace until I went 
where they were not. All women are fools, baas. They cry 
for a piece of glittering glass, forgetting the glory of the sun. 
Is it not so, baas?” 

But the Major did not answer. He was fingering the dia¬ 
mond ring in his pocket. 

And so they rode out or' the town in silence, Jim looking 
doubtfully at his baas. Presently they came to the veld and 
as the clean, sweet smell of it came to his nostrils the Major 
rose in his stirrups, looked back once, and then with a shout of, 
“I’ll race you to camp, Jim,” spurred his horse and galloped 
swiftly over the veld. 


THE END 






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